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MY LIFE

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From a phutograph taken in 1894

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Mr LIFE

JOSIAH FLYNT

Author of "Tramping with Tramps," "The World of Graft," Etc.

With an Introduction by Arthur Symons

ILLUSTRATED

■

■ ■
■ i

NEW YORK

THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY

MCMVIII

THE NEW YOKK
PUBLIC LIBRA Y

848136A

ASTOR, LENOX AND

TILDEN FOUNDATIONS

R 1936 L

Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England
All Rights Reserved

'' I '.

DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to all those human beings, who,
like myself, have come under the spell of that will-o'-the-
wisp, Die Feme, the disappearing and fading Beyond,
and who, like myself again, are doomed sooner or later
to see the folly of their quest, Die Feme receding mean-
while farther and farther away from their vision. " It
is the way of the World," says the Philosopher. That
my fellow dupes in the fruitless chase may all become
sweet-natured philosophers in the end, is my earnest wish
and prayer.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

Introduction — By Arthur Symons
Foreword

I Earliest Reminiscences .

II Youthful Days at Evanston

III Rest Cottage

IV Early College Days
V My First Imprisonment

VI In a Reform School

VII Early Tramping Experiences

VIII My Voyage to Europe .

IX Unter Den Linden

X Berlin University

XI Wanderings in Germany

XII A Visit to London .

XIII The Bloomsbury Guards

XIV Some London Acquaintances
XV Two Tramping Experiences

XVI Switzerland and Germany

XVII A Visit to Tolstoy .

XVIII Some Anecdotes of Tolstoy

XIX I Meet General Kuropatkin

PAGE

xi
xxiii

3
18

101

120

141

152

167

, 177

, 190

, 196

, 201

, 206

, 227

, 241

. 248

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

XX In St. Petersburg 258

XXI I Return to America 269

XXII New York Again 273

XXIII Railroad Experiences 287

XXIV Trying to Live by My Pen . . . .295
XXV With the Powers That Prey . . . 302

XXVI Honor Among Thieves So Called . . 323

Josiah Flynt — An Appreciation — By Alfred

Hodder 341

Josiah Flynt — An Impression — By Emily M.

Burbank 348

A Final Word — By Bannister Merwin . . 356

vni

ILLUSTRATIONS

Josiah Flynt Frontispiece

FACING
PAGE

The Boy — Josiah Flynt 20

Mary B. Willard 70

Oliver Atherton Willard . . . . / . . .116

Madam Willard 170

Frances E. Willard 250

Josiah Flynt, in his "garb of the road," while tramping

in Russia 304

INTRODUCTION

IT seems a long time since the day when Josiah
Flynt came to me in the Temple, with a letter
of introduction from his sister, whom I had met at
the house of friends in London. The contrast was star-
tling. I saw a little, thin, white, shriveled creature,
with determined eyes and tight lips, taciturn and self-
composed, quietly restless; he was eying me critically, as I
thought, out of a face prepared for disguises, yet with a
strangely personal life looking out, ambiguously enough,
from underneath. He spoke a hybrid speech; he was
not interested apparently in anything that interested me.
I had never met any one of the sort before, but I found
myself almost instantly accepting him as one of the
people who were to mean something to me. There are
those people in life, and the others; the others do not
matter.

The people who knew me wondered, I think, at my
liking Flynt; his friends, I doubt not, wondered that
he could get on with me. With all our superficial unlike-
ness, something within us insisted on our being comrades.
We found out the points at which undercurrents in us

INTRODUCTION

flowed together. Where I had dipped, he had plunged,
and that aim, which I was expressing about then, to
" roam in the sun and air with vagabonds, to haunt the
strange corners of cities, to know all the useless, and
improper, and amusing people who are alone very much
worth knowing," had been achieved by him. I was
ready for just such a companion, hesitating on the edge
of a road which he had traveled.

We went together, not only about London, but on
little journeys to France and Belgium, and on a longer
visit to Germany. All that was ceaselessly entertaining
to me, and came as a sort of margin to the not more
serious enterprises of " The Savoy," the days of Beards-
ley, Conder, and Dowson. Flynt never quite fitted into
that group, but he watched it with curiosity, as part of
the material for his study of life.

I have been reading over his kindly and playful say-
ings about me in this book, which are veracious enough
in the main substance of them, and it hurts me to think
that I shall never go round to the Crown with him any
more, or sit with him again in a cafe in Berlin. It was
there, at the Embergshalle, that I found a poem of mine
which is called " Emmy," but it was not for the sake
of " material," or for those " impressions and sensa-
tions " of which he speaks, that I went about with him,
but for the sake of the things themselves; and I won-
dered if he realized it. So what pleases me most now
is when he says that he never thought of my books, or
of myself as a literary man, when we were together. It
was because he was so much more, in his way, than a

xii

INTRODUCTION

literary man, that I cared for him so much, and it was
of things more intimate than books that I liked to talk
with him.

His ideas were always his own, and seemed to most
people to be eccentric. He had come to them by way of
his own experience, or by deduction from the experience
of others whom he had learned to know from inside.
His mind was stubborn; you saw it in his dogged face,
in which the thin lips were pressed tightly together
and the eyes fixed level. He was rarely turned out of
his ground by an argument, for he avoided debating
about things that he did not know. I never saw him
conscious of the beauty of anything; I do not think he
read much, or cared for books. His talk was generally
cynical, and he believed in few people and few opinions.

Flynt had no sense of style, and when he began to
try to write down what he had seen and what he thought
of it, the first result was at once tedious and formal, the
life all gone out of what had so literally been lived. I
was a fierce critic, and drove and worried him to be
natural in his writing, to write as he would talk, in a
dry, curt, often ironical way. His danger in writing was
to be too literal for art and not quite literal enough for
science. He was too completely absorbed in people and
things to be able ever to get aloof from them; and to
write well of what one has done and seen one must be
able to get aloof from oneself and from others. If ever
a man loved wandering for its own sake it was George
Borrow ; but George Borrow had a serious and whimsical
brain always at work, twisting the things that he saw into

xiii

INTRODUCTION

shapes that pleased him more than the shapes of the
things in themselves. I tried to get Flynt to read Bor-
row, but books were of little use to him. He did finally
succeed in saying more or less straightforwardly what he
wanted to say, but his work will remain a human docu-
ment, of value in itself, behind which one can divine
only a part of the whole man. There was far more
in his mind, his sensations were far subtler, his curiosity
was more odd and rare, than any one who did not know
him will ever recognize from his writing. His life was
a marvelous invention : he created it in action, and the
words in which he put it down are only a kind of com-
mentary, or footnote to it.

Human curiosity: that made up the main part of
Flynt's nature; and with it went the desire to find out
everything by trying it, not merely by observing. None
of the great wanderers of letters, Borrow or Stevenson,
was so really a born vagabond; none had so little in the
way of second thoughts behind him on his way through
the world. The spectacle, the material, all that was so
much to these artists, was to him only so much negligible
quantity, an outer covering which he had to get through.
He went to see Tolstoy in Russia, and was taken into
his house, and digged in his garden. He went to see
Ibsen at Munich. To neither did he go for anything but
that for which he went to the tramps and convicts : to
find out what sort of human beings they were at close
quarters.

Whatever he has written of value has been the record
of personal experience, and after several books in which

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INTRODUCTION

there is much serious instruction as well as external fact
and adventure, he ended with this candid story of him-
self, of what he knew about himself, and of that larger
part which he did not understand, except that it led him
where he had to go. The narrative breaks off before
he had time to end it, with what was really the comedy
of his life: the vagabond, ending by becoming so fan-
tastically useful a member of society; the law, which he
had defied, clever enough to annex him; he himself,
clever enough to take wages for doing over again what
he had done once for nothing, at its expense. Was it
a way of " ranging " himself a little, and would he, if
things had gone well, have answered the question, which
I was fond of asking: What would remain for him in
the world when he had tramped over all the roads of it?
As it happened, he got short benefit from the change of
position. He made more money than was good for
him, out of detective service, first for the railroads, then
for the police, and what had been one of the temptations
of his life was easier, indeed seemed to him now neces-
sary, to be succumbed to. He had an inherited tendency
to drink, which had been partly kept down ; now this new
contact, so perilous for him, reawakened and strength-
ened the tendency into permanence. Gradually things
slipped through his hands; the demand for books, arti-
cles, lectures, increased, as his power of complying with
that demand ebbed out of him. He had friends, who
held by him as long as he would let them. One of them
was the only woman whom he had ever seriously cared
for, besides his mother and his sisters. For three years

INTRODUCTION

he was rarely sober, and drink killed him. At the end he
shut himself away in his room at the hotel in Chicago,
as Dowson shut himself away in his lodgings in Feather-
stone Buildings, and Lionel Johnson in his rooms in
Gray's Inn ; as a sick animal goes off into a lonely corner
in the woods to die in.

Josiah Flynt was never quite at home under a roof
or in the company of ordinary people, where he seemed
always like one caught and detained unwillingly. An
American, who had studied in a German university,
brought up, during his early life, in Berlin, he always
had a fixed distaste for the interests of those about him,
and an instinctive passion for whatever exists outside the
border-line which shuts us in upon respectability. There
is a good deal of affectation in the literary revolt against
respectability, together with a child's desire to shock its
elders, and snatch a lurid reputation from those whom
it professes to despise. My friend never had any of
this affectation; life was not a masquerade to him, and
his disguises were the most serious part of his life. The
simple fact is, that respectability, the normal existence
of normal people, did not interest him; he could not even
tell you why, without searching consciously for reasons;
he was born with the soul of a vagabond, into a family
of gentle, exquisitely refined people: he was born so, that

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INTRODUCTION

is all. Human curiosity, which in most of us is subor-
dinate to some more definite purpose, existed in him for
its own sake; it was his inner life, he had no other;
his form of self-development, his form of culture. It
seems to me that this man, who had seen so much of
humanity, who had seen humanity so closely, where it
has least temptation to be anything but itself, really
achieved culture, almost perfect of its kind, though the
kind were of his own invention. He was not an artist,
who can create; he was not a thinker or a dreamer, or
a man of action; he was a student of men and women,
and of the outcasts among men and women, just those
people who are least accessible, least cared for, least
understood, and therefore, to one like my friend, most
alluring. He was not conscious of it, but I think there
was a great pity at the heart of this devouring curiosity.
It was his love of the outcast which made him like to
live with outcasts, not as a visitor in their midst, but as
one of themselves.

For here is the difference between this man and the
other adventurers who have gone about among tramps,
and criminals, and other misunderstood or unfortunate
people. Some have been philanthropists, and have gone
with the Bible in their hands; others have been journal-
ists, and have gone with note-books in their hands; all
have gone as visitors, plunging into " the bath of multi-
tude," as one might go holiday making to the seaside
and plunge into the sea. But this man, wherever he has
gone, has gone with a complete abandonment to his sur-
roundings; no tramp has ever known that " Cigarette "

xvii

INTRODUCTION

was not really a tramp ; he has begged, worked, ridden
outside trains, slept in work-houses and gaols, not
shirked one of the hardships of his way; and all the
time he has been living his own life (whatever that
enigma may be!) more perfectly, I am sure, than when
he was dining every day at his mother's or his sister's
table.

The desire of traveling on many roads, and the desire
of seeing many foreign faces, are almost always found
united in that half-unconscious instinct which makes a
man a vagabond. But I have never met any one in
whom the actual love of the road is so strong as it was
in Flynt. I remember, some ten years ago, when we
had given one another rendezvous at St. Petersburg, that
I found, when I got there, that he was already half-way
across Siberia, on the new railway which they were in the
act of making. But for the most part he walked. Wher-
ever he walked he made friends; when we used to walk
about London together he would get into the confidence
of every sailor whom we came upon in the pot-houses
about the docks. He was not fastidious, and would
turn his hand, as the phrase is, to anything. And he
went through every sort of privation, endured dirt,
accustomed himself to the society of every variety of his
fellow-creatures, without a murmur or regret.

After all, comfort is a convention, and pleasure an
individual thing to every individual. " To travel is to
die continually," wrote a half-crazy poet who spent most
of the years of a short fantastic life in London. Well,
that is a line that I have often found myself repeating

xviii

INTRODUCTION

as I shivered in railway stations on the other side of
Europe, or lay in a plunging berth as the foam chased
the snow flakes off the deck. One finds, no doubt, a
particular pleasure in looking back on past discomforts,
and I am convinced that a good deal of the attraction
of traveling comes from an unconscious throwing for-
ward of the mind to the time when the uncomfortable
present shall have become a stirring memory of the past.
But I am speaking now for those in whom a certain
luxuriousness of temperament finds itself in sharp con-
flict with the desire of movement. To my friend, I
think, this was hardy a conceivable state of mind. He
was a stoic, as the true adventurer should be. Rest,
even as a change, did not appeal to him. He thought
acutely, but only about facts, about the facts before him ;
and so he did not need to create an atmosphere about
himself which change might disturb. He was fond of
his family, his friends; but he could do without them,
like a man with a mission. He had no mission, only a
great thirst; and this thirst for the humanity of every
nation and for the roads of every country drove him
onward as resistlessly as the drunkard's thirst for drink,
or the idealist's thirst for an ideal.

And it seems to me that few men have realized, as
this man realized, that " not the fruit of experience, but
experience itself, is the end." He chose his life for
himself, and he has lived it, regardless of anything else
in the world. He has desired strange, almost inaccessi-
ble things, and he has attained whatever he has desired.
Once, as he was walking with a friend in the streets of

xix

INTRODUCTION

New York, he said suddenly : " Do you know, I wonder
what it is like to chase a man? I know what it is like
to be chased, but to chase a man would be a new sensa-
tion." The other man laughed, and thought no more
about it. A week later Flynt came to him with an
official document; he had been appointed a private
detective. He was set on the track of a famous criminal
(whom, as it happened, he had known as a tramp) ; he
made his plans, worked them out successfully, and the
criminal was caught. To have done it was enough : he
had had the sensation; he had no need, at that moment,
to do any more work as a detective. Is there not, in
this curiosity in action, this game mastered and then cast
aside, a wonderful promptness, sureness, a moral quality
which is itself success in life?

To desire so much, and what is so human; to make
one's life out of the very fact of living it as one chooses;
to create a unique personal satisfaction out of discontent
and curiosity; to be so much oneself in learning so much
from other people : is not this, in its way, an ideal, and
has not this man achieved it? He had the soul and the
feet of a vagabond. He cared passionately for men and
women, where they are most vividly themselves, because
they are no longer a part of society. He wandered
across much of the earth, but he did not care for the
beauty or strangeness of what he saw, only for the
people. Writing to me once from Samarcand, he said:
" I have seen the tomb of the Prophet Daniel; I have
seen the tomb of Tamerlane." But Tamerlane was
nothing to him, the Prophet Daniel was nothing to

INTRODUCTION

him. He mentioned them only because they would
interest me. He was trying to puzzle out and piece
together the psychology of the Persian beggar whom he
had left at the corner of the way.

Arthur Symons.

XXI

FOREWORD

THIS book explains itself in most ways, I hope,
and a prefatory portico almost seems super-
fluous. In general, such addenda are distaste-
ful to me ; they look like an apology for what the author
has to offer later on. No portico would be attached
to the edifice I have now constructed were it not that
there are two points I want to make clear and have
failed to do so sufficiently to my satisfaction in the
narrative proper.

First, it is fair to state at the outset that an auto-
biography coming from a man under forty is, to say the
least, an unconventional performance which requires
some explanation. I believe it was no less a genius than
Goethe, however, who hazarded the remark that what
a man is going to do that's worth while he does before
thirty. Goethe's own life gives the lie to the statement,
but there is a kernel of truth in its suggestiveness. In my
case there happens to be much more than a mere kernel
of truth in the remark. What I am going to do as a
passionate explorer of Die Feme — the ever-disappear-
ing Beyond — has been done for all time, so far as the
Under World is concerned. The game is over and the

xxiii

FOREWORD

dealer retires. My dead Self I herewith put aside, and
begin afresh with a new world. The old Self died
hard. I can hear its bones rattling yet. But there
came a time when it had to go, and now that I know
that it is really and truly gone, that to-morrow morn-
ing, for instance, to find peace and contentment for the
day it will not be necessary for me to take up my staff
and go nervously through the same antics and search-
ings as of old, a sweet satisfaction steals over me and
I am glad to be alive. This book puts a finish for the
present, at any rate, on all that I have heretofore writ-
ten about the Under World, and sums up what I won
and lost during my wanderings.

The second point to be cleared up I will put inter-
rogatively— Was it worth while, after living the life,
finishing with it, and passing on to pastures new and
green, to tell the story? Benvenuto Cellini, that cheer-
ful romancer, declares that a man, on reaching forty,
if he has done anything of value and importance, is justi-
fied in putting his exploits down in writing, that he is
morally bound to do so indeed if he would hold up his
head among his fellows. For nearly forty years I
chased the Beyond — that misty and slippery sorceress,
ever beckoning onward to the wanderer, yet never satis-
fying, never showing herself in her true deceitful colors,
until after long years of acquaintance. The chase is
made by many travelers of the Upper World, hypno-
tized as I was, but by me perforce in that strange
Under World from which so many explorers never
return. This, it seems to me, is worth telling about.

xxiv

FOREWORD

I have made the story as simple and direct as possible.
May he who reads it, if perchance the sorceress is
tempting him, too, hold fast to a better ideal, although
his life be narrow and his task, to fulfill a tiresome
routine.

xxv

MY LIFE

CHAPTER I

EARLIEST REMINISCENCES

MY old nurse once told me that I came into this
world with a " cowl," which had to be
snatched off quickly, else I should have laid
there to be a prophet. Why a state of blindness at one's
birth should premise extraordinary vision, spiritual or
otherwise, later on, is not clear. No such vision has ever
been vouchsafed to me; on the contrary, as my story will
reveal, that early blindness continued in one form or
another all through my search for Die Feme.

My very earliest remembrance is a runaway trip, cul-
minating in the village lockup. Although my mother
declares that I was at least five years old when this hap-
pened, I have always believed that I was nearer four;
at any rate, I remember that I wore dresses. The cir-
cumstances of the truancy and imprisonment were as
follows: My parents were in the neighboring city for
the day, and I had been left at home with the nurse.
She had punished me pretty severely for some slight
offense, and had then gone to the lake for water, leaving
me in a lane in front of the house, very much disquieted.
A sudden impulse to run took hold of me — anywhere,
it did not matter, so long as the nurse could not find me.

MY LIFE

So off I started with a rush for the main street of the
village, my little white panties dangling along after me.
That was my first conscious and determined effort to see
the world in my own way and at my own discretion. It
was the beginning of that long series of runaway excur-
sions which have blessed or marred my life ever since.
No child ever had a greater measure of unalloyed joy
in his soul than I did when I dashed down that village
lane, and no later escapade has ever brought me quite
the same fine shade of satisfaction.

In the main street the village police officer stopped
me, and on learning who I was, took me to the lockup
for safe-keeping until my parents returned in the even-
ing. I was not actually put in a cell — the lockup was
fire station and village prison in one, and I was given
the freedom of the so-called engine room. I remember
that I spent most of the time sucking a stick of candy and
marveling at the fire apparatus. Nevertheless it was
imprisonment of a kind, and I knew it. It was the only
punishment I received. My parents picked me up in
the evening, apparently much amused. Could my father
have realized what that initial truancy was to lead to I
should probably have received one of his whippings, but
fortunately he was in a mood to consider it humorously.

My father died at the early age of forty-two, when I
was eight years old (1877). He was a tall, slender
man, lithe, nervous and possessed of a long brown beard
which always impressed me when looking at him. He
was the editor-in-chief of a Chicago daily newspaper,
which died six months after his demise. I have heard

EARLIEST REMINISCENCES

it said that he was the only man who could have made
the paper a success, and trying to do this probably wore
him out. He had experimented with various activities
before taking the newspaper position, but he thought
that he had at last found his life-work when he devel-
oped into an editor. The last year of his life he became
very much interested in church matters. He came of
good New England stock, his American progenitor
helping to found the town of Concord, Mass.

I have often heard it said that my father was a bril-
liant man gifted with a remarkable sense of humor. He
did not favor me with his humorous side very often,
but I do recall a funny incident in which he revealed
to all of us children a phase of his character which
my mother probably knew much more about. Although
my father had to leave the old brown house early in the
morning in order to catch his customary train for the
city, he insisted rigidly on holding family prayers before
leaving. These prayers did not mean much to me what-
ever they may have stood for with him, but there was
one morning when they did please me. My old cat
had brought a litter of kittens into the world over night,
and at prayer time had deposited them in father's chair.
Not noticing them, he took the Bible and proceeded to
sit down. There ensued a great deal of miyowing and
spitting. "Damn the cats!" exclaimed my father,
springing up, and then taking another chair he con-
tinued with the prayers. I laughed over this happening
all day, and my father never again exposed himself to
me in such human garb.

MY LIFE

Perhaps my older sister was his favorite child, if he
played any favorites. Whether she understood him bet-
ter than the rest of us did I cannot say, but her whip-
pings seemed to me to come very infrequently. Her
ability to get him out of a punishing mood is well illus-
trated by the following incident.

Something that she had done had vexed him, as I
remember the story, and she was in a fair way to be
punished — " whaled," indeed, my father being unwill-
ing to distinguish between the sexes in whippings as they
applied to children. My sister had an inspiration as we
considered it at the time — climbing into her father's
lap, and gently stroking his almost straight hair, she
said softly : " What lovely, curly locks you have, Papa ! "
The incongruity of her remark made him smile, and
when he had once passed this Rubicon in his punishing
moods he became friendly. I was never as clever as
my sister in interviews of this character. What boy is
as clever as his sister, when it comes to acting?

My father gone, the battle of life for us children
shifted to my mother. My father left very few funds
behind him, and it was necessary for my mother to be
mother and bread-winner at the same time. I shall not
enter into an account of her various activities to keep the
family together, but she did this somehow in most honor-
able and useful ways for nearly ten years, departing then
for Germany with the two girls to engage in educational
work. No man ever made a braver struggle against
fearful odds than did this mother of mine, and when I
think of my almost unceasing cussedness throughout her

EARLIEST REMINISCENCES

struggle a remorse comes over me which is best not
described. We stayed in the village during the ten years
in question, and I grew to be a youth well on in my
teens, but never looking my years, nor do I to-day in
spite of the hard life I have led, and a great many days
and nights spent in hospitals. This is not said to coddle
my vanity. I merely mean that I got from my parents
a wonderful constitution. I hardly think that the aver-
age man, had he risked his health as I have done, would
have pulled through so well.

Our village, since developed into one of Chicago's
most beautiful and fashionable suburbs — I sometimes
think it is the most entrancing spot near a large city, so
far as nature alone goes, that exists — was a strange
locality for a wanderer of my caliber to grow up in.
Settled originally by sturdy New Englanders and central
New Yorkers, it early became a Western stronghold of
Methodism. My people on both sides were early
comers, my mother's father being a divinity professor
in the local theological institute. My father's people
inclined to Congregationalism I think, but they swung
round, and when I knew my grandmother she was an
ardent communicant among the Methodists. Such
church instruction as I could stand was also found in this
fold — or shall I say party? Some years ago an ex-
governor of Colorado was saying nice things about my
mother to the United States Minister in Berlin, and
to clinch his argument why the Minister should look out
for my mother, the ex-governor said: "And, Mr.
Phelps, she belongs to the greatest political party in our

MY LIFE

country — the Methodist Church! " It never interested
me very much to look into the church's machinery — I
had what seemed much more important and seductive
work in planning and carrying out my runaway trips —
but in later years I must confess to having been im-
pressed with similarities in Methodism as a religious
policy and politics as a business. Methodism considered
simply as a religious organization, ought to be described
by some one who can study it impartially. The struggle
for the high places in the church at conferences is woe-
fully like that in political conventions. Men who want
to be bishops pull wires and secure supporters in almost
identically the same way that office seekers in conventions
make their arrangements, and the fat jobs in the minis-
try are as earnestly coveted by aspiring preachers as are
political offices in the nation at large. Perhaps this is
all right; certainly, if figures, churches and converts
count, the Methodists have done a great work; but
Methodism as a religious cult had to pass me by.

The good villagers tried numberless times to have me
" converted," and officially I have gone through this
performance a number of times. Strangely enough,
after nearly every one of my earlier runaway trips and
my humble return to the village, bedraggled and torn,
some revivalist had preceded me, and was holding forth
at a great rate in the " Old First," where my people
communed. My grandmother, my father's mother,
invariably insisted on my attending the revival services
in the hope that finally I would come to my senses and
really " get religion." As much as anything else to show

EARLIEST REMINISCENCES

that I was sorry for the anxiety I had caused my mother
during the latest escapade, I would take my grandmother's
advice and join the mourners at the mercy seat. Two or
three visits usually sufficed to effect a change in me, and
I would hold up my hand with those who desired con-
version. I was not insincere in this, far from it. It
came from nervousness and a desire to go home and be
able to say honestly that I meant to mend my ways. I
shall never forget the last time I attempted to get
Divine grace and healing at one of these meetings. The
preceding escapade had been woefully bad, and it was
very much up to me to atone for it in no unmistakable
manner. The relatives were all looking at me askance,
and the neighbors were cautioning their children more
particularly than usual to keep out of my company.
Indeed, I became at a jump the village " bad boy," and
I never really got over this appellation. I have heard
good Methodist mothers say, as I passed by in the street :
" There goes that awful Flynt boy," and I came to look
upon myself as the local boy outcast. In later years I
have changed considerably in my attitude toward people
who criticise and revile me, but at the time in question
I was a timid, bashful lad in temperament, and the
ruthless remarks made by the Methodist mothers — the
Methodist fathers also discussed my " case " pretty
mouthily — made scars in my soul that are there yet.
The truth of the matter is, I was not so innately bad as
my persistent running away and occasional pilfering
seemed to imply. I was simply an ordinary boy pos-
sessed of an extraordinary bump for wandering, which,

MY LIFE

when the " go-fever " was in me, sent me off to strange
parts and peculiar adventures before any one had time
to realize that I was in one of my tantrums. The attack
would come so suddenly that I was off and away before
I had myself fully realized that I had been seized with
one of the periodical fits.

But to return for a moment to that last revival, and
my last " conversion." " Josiah," said my grand-
mother, " there is a good man holding forth in the
church to-night, and do you go over and get good from
him." I was prepared to do anything to stop the critical
glances of the village, and that evening I made what was
supposed to be a full surrender and declared myself
" converted " forever more. Whether the " good man '
hypnotized me into all this, whether I consciously made
public declaration of conversion from selfish motives, or
whether it was all sincere and upright I can't tell now.
Probably all three agencies were at work at the time. A
retired captain in the army, himself a convert of not
many months, put my name down in his book among
those who had experienced a change of heart. " Josiah,
this time you mean it, don't you?" he asked, and I
said " Yes." I walked out of the church in a warm
glow, and felt purged from sin as never before. A
few weeks later I was off on another Wanderlust trip
of exploration.

It is a pity in such cases that the truant's wanderings
cannot be directed, if wander he must. In my case there
was plainly no doubt that I possessed the nomadic
instinct in an abnormal degree. Whippings could not

EARLIEST REMINISCENCES

cure it, shutting me up in my room without any clothes
only made the next seizure harder to resist, and moral
suasion fell flat as a pancake. Revivals and conversions
were serviceable merely in reinstating me temporarily in
the good graces of my grandmother. The outlook
ahead of me was dark indeed for my mother, and yet
it was from her, as I have learned to believe from what
she has told me in later years, that I probably got some
of my wandering proclivities. There was a time in her
life, I have heard her say, when the mere distant whistle
of a railroad train would set her go-instincts tingling,
and only a sense of duty and fine control of self held her
back. This call of Die Feme, as the Germans name it,
this almost unexplainable sympathy with the slightest
appeal or temptation to project myself into the Beyond
— the world outside of my narrow village world — was
my trouble from almost babyhood until comparatively
a few years ago. The longing to go would come upon
me without any warning in the dead of night sometimes,
stealing into my consciousness under varying disguises
as the years went by and the passion required fresh incen-
tives to become active and alert. In the beginning a
sudden turn of the imagination sufficed to send me world-
wards, and I would be off without let or leave for a week
at least, usually bringing up at the home of relatives in
northern Wisconsin. They would entertain me for a
time, and then I would be shipped back to the village
to await another seizure. On one of these return trips
I traveled on one of the most unconventional railroad
passes I have ever known. The relative who generally

MY LIFE

superintended the return to the village was an editor
well known in his locality and to railroad men on the
road. On one of the last visits paid to his home he
determined not to trust me with the necessary money for
the ticket, but to give me a personal note to the con-
ductor, which he did. It read: "This is a runaway

boy. Please pass him to and collect fare from

me on your return." It was as serviceable at the time
as any bona fide pass, annual or otherwise, that I have
had and used in later years.

As I got well on into my teens and was at work with
my school books, it naturally required a different kind
of appeal to start me off on a trip from the simple call
of the railroad train which had sufficed in the earlier
years. For periods of time, long or short, as my tem-
perament dictated, I became definitely interested in my
books and in trying to behave, for my mother's sake, if
for no other reason. I knew only too well that my fail-
ing caused her much anxiety and worriment, and for
weeks I would honestly struggle against all appeals to
vamose. Then, without any warning, the mere reading
of some biography of a self-made man, who had strug-
gled independently in the world from about my age on
to the Presidency perhaps, would fire me with a desire
to do likewise in some far-off community where there
was the conventional academy and attendant helps to
fame and fortune. There was an academy in our own
village and I attended it, but the appeal to go elsewhere
carried with it a picture of independence, midnight oil
and self-supporting work, which fascinated me, and at

EARLIEST REMINISCENCES

an age when most boys have got over their gusto for
wandering, I would start off in secret, to return famous,
some day, I hoped.

One of the last excursions undertaken with an idea of
setting myself up in business or academic independence
is worth describing. There had been considerable fric-
tion in the household on my account for several days,
and I deliberately planned with a neighboring banker's
son to light out for parts unknown. I was the proud
owner of two cows at the time, furnishing milk to my
mother and a few neighbors at an agreed upon price.
I had been able to pay for the cows out of the milk
money, and my mother frankly recognized that the
cows were my property. The banker's boy was also
imbued with the irritating friction in his family — he was
considerably older and larger than I. We put our heads
together and decided to go West — where, in the West,
was immaterial, but toward the setting sun we were
determined to travel. My companion in this strange
venture had no such property to contribute toward finan-
cing the trip as I had, but he was the proud possessor of
five greyhounds of some value, several guns and a saddle.
We looked about the village for a horse and cart to
carry us, and we at last dickered with a young man
who owned a poor, half-starved, spavined beast and a
rickety cart. I gave him my two cows in exchange for
his outfit, a deal which netted him easily fifty per cent,
profit. The cart loaded, our outfit was the weirdest
looking expedition that ever started for the immortal
West. The muzzles of guns protruded under the cover-

MY LIFE

ing on the sides, the five dogs sniffed uneasily at the
cart, and the dying steed threw his ears back in utter
horror. In this fashion, one bright afternoon in spring,
our hearts throbbing with excitement, we started forth
on our Don Quixote trip, choosing Chicago as our first
goal. We arrived in that city, twelve miles distant, after
four days' travel and a series of accidents to both cart
and horse. It was a Sunday morning, and we had found
our way somehow to the fashionable boulevard, Michi-
gan Avenue, about church time. Our outfit caused so
much embarrassing amusement to the people in the street
that we turned city-wards to find the station where the
C. B. & Q. R. R. started its trains West. We knew of
no other way to go West than to follow these tracks,
I having already been over them as far as Iowa. We
came to grief and complete pause in Madison Street. I
was driving, and my companion was walking on the
pavement. Suddenly, and without any warning, a styl-
ishly dressed man hailed my companion, and asked him
if his name was so-and-so, giving the young man's correct
name. The latter " acknowledged the corn," as he after-
wards put it to me, and I was told to draw up to the
curb, where I learned that the dapper stranger was none
other than a Pinkerton operative. Our trip West was
nipped in the bud then and there. The cart was driven
to a stable, and we boys were taken to the Pinkerton
offices, where I spent the day pretty much alone, except
when one of the Pinkertons, I think it was, lectured me
about the horrors and intricacies of the West, and
exhorted me to mend my ways and stay at home. Our

EARLIEST REMINISCENCES

horse succumbed to his wanderings soon after being
returned to his original owner, and my cows were got
back by process of law.

Later on, a good old major, a friend of my mother's,
recommended that she send me West in regular fash-
ion, and let me see for myself. " A good roughing-
it may bring him to his senses," said the major, and
I was shipped to a tiny community in western Nebraska,
consisting of a country store about the size of a large
wood-shed, and four sod cabins. An older brother
had preceded me here, and had been advised by letter
to watch out for my coming. I shall never forget
the woe-begone look on his face when I slipped off the
snow-covered stage and said " Hello." He had not
yet received my mother's letter of advice. " You here ? "
he groaned, and he led me. into one of the sod houses.
I explained matters to him, and he resigned himself
to my presence, but I was never made to feel very wel-
come and in six weeks was home again, chastened in
spirit and disillusionized about the West.

I must confess to still other runaway trips after this
Western failure, but I have always felt that that under-
taking did as much to cure my wandering disease as any-
thing else. Dime novels soon ceased to have a charm
for me, and home became more of an attraction. In
spite of all this, however, in spite of some manly strug-
gles to do right, my longest and saddest disappearance
from home and friends was still ahead of me. It belongs
to another section of the book, but I may say here that
it wound up the runaway trips forever. The travels

MY LIFE

that followed may have been prompted by the call of
Die Feme, but they were aboveboard and regular.

Now, whence came this strange passion, for such it
was, found in milder form probably in all boys and in
some girls, but uncommonly lodged in me? My pilfer-
ings and tendency to distort the truth when punishment
was in sight I account for principally by those miserable
whalings my father gave me. Punishment of some kind
seemed to await me no matter how slight the offense,
and I probably reasoned, as I have suggested above,
that if " lickings " had to be endured it was worth while
getting something that I needed or wanted in exchange
for them. My mother very charitably accounts for my
thefts and lies, on the ground that shortly before I was
born the family's material circumstances were pretty
cramped, and that this state of affairs may have reacted
on me through her, producing my illicit acquisitiveness.

But that insatiable Wanderlust, that quick response to
the lightest call of the seductive Beyond, that vagabond
habit which caused my mother so much pain and worri-
ment — where did that come from? It was a sorry home-
coming for my mother at night when the runaway fever
had sent me away again. She would come into the
house, tired out, and ask the governess for news of the
children. The latter would make her daily report,
omitting reference to me. " And Josiah," my mother
was wont to say, " where is he? " " Gone! " the poor
governess would wail, and my mother would have to go
about her duties the next day with a heavy heart. Now,
why was I so perverse and pig-headed in this matter,

EARLIEST REMINISCENCES

when I, myself, the fever having subsided, suffered real
remorse after each trip? Even at this late day, after
years of pondering over the case, I can only make con-
jectures. I have hinted that probably I inherited from
my mother a love of being on the move, but she could
control her desire to travel. For years I was a helpless
victim of the whims of the Wanderlust. All that I have
been able to evolve as a solution of the problem is this :
Granted the innate tendency to travel, living much solely
with my own thoughts, bashful and timid to a painful
degree at times, and possessed of an imagination which
literally ran riot with itself every few months or so, I
was a victim of my own personality. This is all I have
to offer by way of explanation. I have never met a boy
or man who had been plagued to the same degree that
I was.

CHAPTER II

YOUTHFUL DAYS AT EVANSTON

THAT Western village in which I grew up and
struggled with so many temptations and sins
deserves a chapter to itself. Doubtless there
are some very good descriptions extant of small Middle
West communities of twenty-five and thirty years ago,
but I do not happen to have run across any which quite hit
off the atmosphere and general make-up which charac-
terized my village on the western shore of Lake Michi-
gan. Yet there were probably many other settlements
very similar in structure and atmosphere all through
Illinois and southern Wisconsin, peopled by sturdy New
England folk and charged with New England sentiment.
As I have already said, my village was singularized
from other near-by communities of the same size on
account of the Methodists having selected it for one of
their Western strongholds. The place stood for learn-
ing, culture and religion in sectarian form in very pro-
nounced outlines, and even in my childhood it was called
the Athens of the West, or at any rate one of them.
They are so numerous by courtesy to-day that it is diffi-
cult to keep track of them.

YOUTHFUL DAYS AT EVANSTON

The village of my childhood was bounded for me
on the north by a lighthouse and waterworks, and on
the south by the main street, or " store " section. To the
east was the lake, and to the west the " Ridge," a slop-
ing elevation where the particularly " rich " people lived.
This was all the world to me until my sixth or seventh
year, when perhaps I got a fleeting glimpse of Chicago,
and realized that my world was pretty thin in settlement
at least. But I did not see much of Chicago until I
was well on into my teens, so I may practically say that
the village was the one world I knew well for a number
of years in spite of my runaway trips, which were too
flighty to permit me to get acquainted, except superfi-
cially, with the communities visited.

Our house was a rambling old frame affair about mid-
way between the main street and the lighthouse, built
very near the lake. Here I grew up with my brother
and sisters. The territory between the house and the
lighthouse was " free;" we children could roam in the
fields there without special permission, also on the shore
and in the university campus immediately in front of the
house across a lane. But beyond these limits special
passports were required; the main street we were not to
explore at all, innocent affair though it was.

The lake and the shore were our particular delight,
and on pleasant days it is no exaggeration to say that
my brother and I spent half our time roasting in the
sand and then dashing into the cool water for a swim.
Other boys from the village proper — real citified they
seemed to me — joined us frequently, and at an early

MY LIFE

age I had learned to smoke cigarettes, and had a work-
ing vocabulary of " cuss " words, which I was careful,
however, to exercise almost exclusively in the sand.
Whether I took to these habits earlier than most boys
do now, I cannot say, but by nine I was a good beginner
in the cigarette business, and by ten could hold my own
in a cussing contest. My mother once washed my
mouth out with soap and water for merely saying
" Gee ! " What she would have done to me could she
have heard some of my irreverences in the sand is pitiful
to think of. Right here was one of the main snags we
boys ran up against — in being boys, in giving vent to our
vitality, we offended the prim notions of conduct which
our cultured elders insisted upon; and to be ourselves
at all, we had to sneak off to caves in the lake bank or
to swimming and cigarette smoking exercises, where, of
course, we overdid the thing, and then lied about it after-
wards. I learned more about fibbing and falsely " ex-
planationing " how I had disposed of my time at this
period of my life than at any later period, and I boldly
put the blame now on the unmercifully strict set of rules
which the culture and religion in the place deemed essen-
tial. My mother, and later on, my father, were steeped
in this narrow view of things just as badly as were my
grandparents. The Sunday of those days I look back
upon with horror. Compulsory church and Sunday
school attendance, stiff " go-to-meeting " clothes, and a
running order to be seen but not heard until Monday
morning is what I recall of my childhood Sundays.
Church-going, religion and Sunday school lessons be-

The Boy — Josiah Flynt — at the Age ot Thirteen

YOUTHFUL DAYS AT EVANSTON

came a miserable bore, and it is only in very recent years
that I have been able to get any enjoyment out of a
sermon, no matter how fine it may be.

My parents were to blame for all this secondarily
only, as I think of it now. They were unconsciously
just as much victims of the prudery and selfish local
interpretation of the Ten Commandments as we children
were consciously their victims. They had conformed to
the " system " in vogue as children in other similar com-
munities, and they literally did not or would not, know
anything else when they were in the village. My father
very likely knew of many other things in Chicago, but he
did not ventilate his knowledge of them in the village.
Before my parents, my grandfathers and grandmothers
had been among the main stalwarts in supporting the
" system."

The intellectual life of the place centered, of course,
around the university and the Biblical Institute. How
broad and useful this intellectual striving may have been
I did not know as a boy, and in later years absence from
the place has made it impossible for me to judge of its
present effectiveness. The village was saturated with
religious sentiments of one kind or another, and I am
inclined to believe that overdoing this kind of thinking
dwarfed the villagers' mental horizon.

The university had a clause in its charter from the
State authorities which forbade the sale of all intoxicat-
ing liquors within a four-mile radius of the university
building. A small hamlet four miles to the north and
a cemetery village four miles to the south were the

MY LIFE

nearest points where the village boys could get any
liquor. The village fathers have always been very proud
of the prohibitory clause, and in my day were much
given to flattering themselves, that, thank God ! they
were not like other people. Now, what were the facts
as I learned to know them as a boy? I have referred
to the " Ridge," the slope on the west, where the richer
people lived. I make no doubt whatsoever that the
" Ridge " families that wanted wine and beer had it in
their homes — the university charter could not stop that —
but their boys, or many of them, for the fun and lark of
the thing, made pilgrimages to the northern and south-
ern drinking stations, and at times reeled home in a
scandalous condition. Those old enough to go to
Chicago would also stagger back from there late at
night. Of the boys and young men, from the " Ridge '
as well as from down in the village, who participated in
such orgies, I can remember a dozen and more, belong-
ing to the " nicest " families in the place, who went to
the everlasting bow-wows. I say a dozen offhand, there
were in reality more, because I have heard about them
later, after leaving the village. Far be it from me to
put the blame on the university charter, but I am com-
pelled to say that in all such communities the existing
drunkenness and lewdness at least seem worse than in
communities where liquor is sold and drunk openly.
Perhaps they seem so because a drunken person is theo-
retically an anomaly in prohibition towns and villages,
but whatever the reason, our village, with all its good-
ness, learning and piety, turned out much more than its

YOUTHFUL DAYS AT EVANSTON

share of ne'er-do-wells. As I have tried to show, I gave
every promise of becoming one of the failures on whom
the refining village influences had worked in vain, and
for years I am sure that the neighbors prophesied for
me a very wicked career and ending, but I do not recall
ever having made a trip to the drinking bouts, north
or south.

The educational facilities, public school, high school,
the academy (preparatory to the university), and the
university itself, all in the village, made it easy for those
boys who would and could, to complete their academic
courses within call of their own homes. My public
school attendance was short, and I was then taught at
home by my mother or by tutors. I ran away from
school as regularly as from home. Finally, to have a
check on me, my mother and teacher hit upon this plan :
The teacher, every day that I appeared in the class-
room, was to give me a slip of paper with " All Right "
written on it, which I was to show to my mother on
returning home. One day, when I was about ten years
old, the " hookey " fever captured me, and I paid a visit
to my grandmother — my father's mother — whose
doughnuts were an everlasting joy to me. When the
noon hour arrived, and it was about time for me to show
up at home, I said to my grandmother: "Grandma,
you write something for me to copy, and see how well
I write." " All right, my boy," said my grandmother,
who took much interest in my school progress. " What
shall I write?"

" Suppose you write the words ' All Right,' " I

MY LIFE

replied. " I have been practicing on them a good deal."
The good old soul wrote for me the desired " copy '
quite unsuspectingly, and to allay any suspicions that
she might otherwise have had, I dutifully copied her writ-
ing as best I could. Then I thanked her, and on the way
home, trimmed my grandmother's " All Right " to the
size of the slips held by the teacher. I did not seem to
realize that the teacher wrote any differently from my
grandmother, or that my mother was well acquainted with
my grandmother's handwriting. Indeed, for a lad who
could be as " cute and slick as they make 'em," when it
came to a real runaway trip, I was capable at other times
of doing the most stupid things — to wit, the " All
Right " adventure. My mother detected the trick of
course, and I was reported to my father, but he seemed
to see the humorous side of the affair, and let me off with
a scowl.

Winter underclothing and overcoats assisted in mak-
ing my public school attendance a trial. For some
reason I abhorred these garments, and my mother very
rightfully insisted on their being worn, particularly when
I trudged to the schoolhouse in winter. The coat was
shed as soon as I was out of my mother's sight, and the
underclothing was hidden in an outhouse in the school-
yard until time to go home. At home also I discarded
such things whenever possible, and, one day, I was
caught in the act, as it were, by one of our family physi-
cians, a woman. I was sitting on her lap, and she was
tickling me near the knee. She noticed that my stockings
seemed rather " thin," and began to feel for my under-

YOUTHFUL DAYS AT EVANSTON

clothing. "Why, where is it, Josiah?" she finally
exclaimed.

" Oh, it's rolled up," I replied nonchalantly. Again
the good woman tried to locate it, but without success.
"Rolled up where?" she asked. "Oh, 'way up," I
answered, trying to look unconcerned. Pressed to tell
exactly how " high up " the rolling had gone, I finally
confessed that the garments were rolled up in my bureau
drawer. Again the humor of the situation saved me
from a whipping, and I gradually became reconciled to
the clothing in question.

Village playmates, the cosmopolitans of the main
street as I considered them, entered very little into my
life under ten, and I associated principally with my
brothers and sisters and a neighbor's boy — the nephew
of a celebrated writer — who lived very near our great
brown house. Whether other children quarreled and
wrangled the way we did it is hard to say — I hope not —
but without doubt we gave our mother a great deal of
trouble. Strangely enough, for I was very prone at
times to assert my rights and fight for them, too, I
once outdid my older brother and sister in a competitive
struggle to be good for one week. It was while my
father was still alive. He had promised us a prize, and
when anything like that was in sight, I was willing to
make a try for it anyhow. So I shut off steam for a
week, minded my p's and q's pretty carefully, and lo,
and behold ! when Saturday night came, and my mother
was asked to give the decision, I was the lucky competi-
tor. The prize was the New Testament — a typical gift

MY LIFE

— bound in soft red leather, with a little strap to hold
it shut when not in use. On the fly-leaf my father wrote
these words: "To Josiah, from his father, for having
behaved for one week better than his older brother and
sister." The victory over the older children was my
main gratification, but I found the Testament useful also,
committing to memory from it for twenty-five cents, at
my grandmother's request, the fourteenth chapter of
John.

I can only account for a very " soft " thing that I let
myself into not long after winning the prize to the
weakening process in being good for the week in question.

My father had a cane, a twisted and gnarled affair,
which he seldom used, but preserved very carefully in a
closet off the " spare room " of the house. I have always
believed that my brother and sister broke it, but they got
around me, and wheedled me into saying that I had
done it. Indeed, they bribed me with marbles and a
knife, and said that the voluntary confession would be
so manly that my father could not possibly punish me.
Consequently, I did not wait for the broken cane to be
discovered, but went boldly to my father, one night, and
told him that I was the culprit, and how sorry I was.
He looked at me earnestly with his immense blue eyes
for a moment, and then, putting his long, thin hand on
my shoulder, said: " Noble lad! to have come and told
me. Perhaps we can mend it somehow," and that was
the last that was ever heard of the matter.

My playmate over the fence, the celebrated writer's
nephew, was my most intimate companion during all

YOUTHFUL DAYS AT EVANSTON

this period; I was nearer to him in play and study than
to either of my sisters or brother. Although a good
boy in every way, as I now recall him, I fear that our
companionship did us both harm for a while. He was
stockier and taller than I was, and if he had realized and
been willing to exercise his strength, he could have put
me in my right place very soon, but he did not appreciate
his power. The consequence was that he allowed me to
bully him unmercifully, and his accounts of my prowess
gained for me a fighter's reputation in the village, a ficti-
tious notoriety which clung to me strangely enough for
several years. Besides being called a ' bad ' boy I
became known as a youngster who knew how to use
his fists — a myth if there ever was one — and I was
enough of an actor and sufficiently cautious in my
encounters to be able to give some semblance of truth
to this report. The evil effects of this posing on me
were that I allowed myself to be put in a false light as a
" scrapper," and I was continually on the watch not to
risk my reputation in any fair struggle; my companion
over the fence lost confidence in himself, and allowed me
to bully and browbeat him, his manliness suffering
accordingly.

Many and varied were our escapades in our part of
the village, and for years we were seldom seen apart.
The most reckless adventure that I can recall now
occurred when my companion's house was being built,
a three-story affair. The other boy and I were exer-
cising our skill one day on the floor timbers of the third
story, or garret, walking across the beams, a leg to a

MY LIFE

beam, the space between the beams running through to
the cellar. Suddenly I made a misstep, and fell through
the open space to the cellar, partially breaking the fall
by my hands clutching madly at the cellar-floor beams.
I escaped with a few scratches, but I now count the
escape one of the narrowest of several that I have had.

As a playmate I was generally tractable and willing,
but I never lost an opportunity to " boss," if I could do
so without loss of prestige. Bird-nesting, baseball, rid-
ing bareback on an old farm horse, swimming and
walking were the main summer pastimes; in winter, there
was skating, sledding, snow-balling, and " shinny " —
both sets of amusements being typical of a Middle West
boy's life twenty to thirty years ago. There was also
fishing and hunting, but I was too fidgety to fish success-
fully, and I was never presented with a gun. " Vealish"
love affairs with girl companions were indulged in by
some of the boys, but my uncertain reputation and a
" faked " or natural indifference to girls, I know not
which, kept me out of such entanglements; probably
bashfulness had as much to do with the indifference as
anything else. That I was so bashful and at the same
time a bully and would-be leader sounds inconsistent,
but at the time of my father's death, there was probably
not a boy in the village who could be made to shrink up,
as it were, from social timidity, as I could. Indeed, this
characteristic impresses me now, on looking back over
my childhood, as the predominant one in my nature at
that time, and even to-day, it crops out inconveniently,
on occasion. A friend, who knows me well, recently

YOUTHFUL DAYS AT EVANSTON

remarked to a common friend of both of us: " Why is
it that Flynt draws into his shell when strangers join us
at dinner. When we three are alone, he talks as much
as any of us. Let an outsider or two drop in, and he
shuts down instanter. Can you explain it?" I can.
Those silent fits are an aftermath of the exaggerated
bashfulness of my childhood — I simply cannot overcome
them.

CHAPTER III

REST COTTAGE

NOT long after my father died our family de-
serted the old brown house which remains in
my memory still as the one independent home
I have known in life. The old building has long since
flown away on wings of fire and smoke, but I recall
every nook and cranny in it from cellar to garret.
There we children came to consciousness of ourselves,
got acquainted with one another as a family, and played,
quarreled, made up again until the old house must have
known us very intimately. I prize very highly having
had this early love for a house — it redeems somewhat
those bad traits in my character which were so deplored.

An interim home was found for us in the village
proper until an addition for our use could be built to my
grandmother's house, not far from the main street.

One of my teachers, while we lived in the interim
house, was a distant relative, who had a home a few
doors removed from ours. I also went to the public
school, at intervals, but of my teachers at that time I
remember best Miss B . She taught my older sis-
ter and myself such things as it interested her to teach,

REST COTTAGE

and in a way we got a smattering knowledge, at least,
of History, Art, Mathematics (a plague on them!) and,
I think, French. Nothing that the good dame taught
us, however, ever made the impression on me that cer-
tain of her mannerisms did. She was a spinster, no
longer young, and her mannerisms were doubtless the
result of living much alone. An expression which she
constantly used, in and out of season, was " For that."
Putting a book down on the table, or straightening a
disordered desk, called forth a " For that " after every
move she made. It had no significance or meaning at
any time that I heard her use it, but if she used it once
in a day she did so a hundred times at least. I finally
came to call her " Miss For That."

She was furthermore the cause of my coining a word
which is still used in our immediate family. Some one

asked me, one afternoon, how Miss B impressed

me, and I am alleged to have replied: " She's so spunc-
tuated." To the rest of the family it seemed a very
good characterization of the lady, they understanding
the word apparently quite as well as I thought that I
did. Later I was often asked what I meant by the
word, and it has never been easy to tell exactly; our
family took it in and harbored it because they knew
Miss B and seemed to grasp immediately my mean-
ing. What the word conveyed to me was this: that

Miss B was inordinately prim and orderly, and

that as in a written sentence, with its commas, and semi-
colons, her verbal sentences needed just so many " For
Thats " to satisfy her sense of neatness. I even found

MY LIFE

her form of punishment for me, when I had been
unruly, " spunctuated." I had to sit in the coal hod

on such occasions, and the way Miss 3 ordered me

into the bucket, with an inevitable " For that " or two,
sandwiched in with the command, increased her " spunc-
tuatedness " in my estimation very noticeably.

The good woman eventually married, and I think
lost some of her painful primness; but the word she
helped me to invent still survives. I have been told
that friends who have visited our home and could appre-
ciate the word's meaning, have also incorporated it in
their vocabularies. In some ways human beings the
world over could be divided up into the " spunctuated "
and the " unspunctuated."

In the annex attached to my grandmother's home my
village life and early boyhood found their completion.
When we left this home the family became scattered,
one going one way and the others some other way; we
have never all been together since the break-up. My
brother, for instance, I have not seen in nearly twenty
years, and have no idea where he is to-day. He also
was possessed of Wanderlust, indeed we might as well
call ourselves a Wanderlust family, because every one
of us has covered more territory at home and abroad
than the average person can find time, or cares, to
explore. While living in the interim house my mother
tried an experiment with me. She sent me away to a
boys' boarding school about fifty miles north of Chicago.
There had been a general family council of grand-
parents, uncles and aunts, and it was hoped that a

REST COTTAGE

change of control and discipline would achieve changes
for the better in me.

The school was in the hands of an old English pastor
and his wife, and they had succeeded in giving a certain
English look to the old white building and grounds.
My mother and I arrived at this institution of learning,
so-called, one evening about supper time. The other
boys, twenty-odd in number, ranging in years from ten
to eighteen, were in the dining room munching their
bread and molasses. It seemed to me at the time that
I should certainly die when my mother left, and I
should be alone with that rabble. Compromises and
taking a back seat were to be inevitable in all intercourse
with the larger boys, and the lads of my own age looked
able to hold their own with me in any struggle that
might occur. It was plain that I could bully no longer,
and there was a possibility that the tables would be
turned, and that I should be the one bullied. These
thoughts busied me very much that night, which I spent
with the master in his room. By morning I had half-a-
dozen escapes well planned, leading back to the home
village, and they lightened the parting from my mother,
who seemed quite pleased with the school.

Getting acquainted with the other scholars proved a
less arduous task than I had anticipated, which may be
partly explained by the fact that my roommate had
arrived on the same day that I did, and we were able to
feel our way together, as it were. As a lad, and to-day
as well, if there is any strange territory to be covered,
or an investigation is on, I feel pretty much at a loss

MY LIFE

without some kind of a companion, either human or
canine.

The experience at the school, however, fairly pleasant
and instructive though it became as I got over a pre-
liminary homesickness, made such a faint impression
on my character, one way or the other, that there is but
little of interest, beyond my abrupt French leave-taking,
to report. There had been several abortive attempts
to get away before the final departure, but we — I
always had companions in these adventures — were in-
variably overhauled and brought back. A well-meant
" lecture " followed our capture, that was all. Indeed
the days spent in the school were the only days of my
early boyhood free of whippings. They were some-
times promised, but the good old pastor relented at the
last moment and let me off with a reprimand.

The runaway trip that finally succeeded was most
carefully planned and executed. For days four of us
discussed routes, places where we could get something
to eat, and railway time-tables; and the boy who knew
Chicago best arranged for our reception there, if we
should get that far. This time we were not going to
take to the railroad near the village; we had failed
there too often. We knew of another railroad some
eight miles inland, and this became our first objective.
We left the school at night when the master and the
scholars were asleep. Carrying our shoes in our hands,
our pockets stuffed with surplus socks and handker-
chiefs, we stole out of the old white building unob-
served, and on into a cornfield, where we put on our

REST COTTAGE

shoes and made sure once again that we had not been
followed. Then, light-hearted and happy in the
thought that we were free, we tramped rapidly to the
railroad. Reaching a good sized station about one
o'clock, we awaited an express train due in an hour or
so. It came thundering along on schedule time, and
two boys " made " the " blind baggage," while the Chi-
cago boy and I perched ourselves just behind the cow-
catcher. After this dare-devil fashion we rode into
Chicago, arriving there just as the milkman and baker-
boy were going their rounds. The darkness, of course,
had helped us immensely. We had no money for car-
fare, and had to pick our way through a labyrinth of
streets before we found our Chicago companion's barn,
where we rolled ourselves up in some very dirty carpets
on the floor and fell asleep to dream of freedom and its
delights.

This escape, so thorough and cleancut, satisfied my
mother that the school was not the place for me, and
I was taken back to the village, the new home ad-
joining my grandmother's, and handed over to the
tender mercies of tutors again. A new life began for
me, a new life in a number of ways. Although the two
houses were connected, and our family could pass over
into grandmother's quarters and vice versa, we children
were cautioned to keep on our own side of the fence
most of the time. Nevertheless, our grandmother was
almost always accessible, particularly when her daugh-
ter, our noted aunt, was away on a lecturing tour. This
was a great boon in many respects, because our mother

MY LIFE

was in the city all day, and we certainly used to get
tired of the governess.

This grandmother of mine stands out in my memory
of childhood more distinctly than any other character,
except, of course, my mother. She was one of the most
remarkable women it has been my good fortune to know
well. A famous English lady, who visited my aunt
years after our particular family had scattered, insisted
on calling my grandmother " Saint Courageous," and
I have always thought that she well deserved this title.
For years, while my aunt was traveling over the coun-
try, lecturing on temperance and woman's rights, my
grandmother would live patiently alone with a Swedish
servant, glorying in her daughter's fame and usefulness,
and carefully pasting press notices of her work in a
scrapbook.

My brother, " Rob," was grandmother's pet. He
was her son's firstborn and her first grandchild, and
what Rob did, good or bad, found praise and excuses
in her eyes. We other children had to take a back seat,
so to speak, when Rob was at home, but this was only
intermittently, after he undertook to be a civil engineer.
When I last saw him he had experimented with about
as many activities as he had lived years, and he was still
very undecided about any one of them. In a way this
has been a family characteristic among us children, at
any rate among us boys. Mother early noticed this ten-
dency, and literally begged of us to let her see us through
college, as did our grandmother, so that, whatever we
undertook later on, we might have educational qualifica-

REST COTTAGE

tions for any opportunity that presented itself. She was
doomed to disappointment in this matter in the case of
all four. Each one of us has experimented with college
life, and I, as will be told later on in detail, smuggled
myself into the Berlin University as a student of political
economy, but there is not a diploma to-day among the
four of us.

My grandmother's room on her side was in the front,
and here she spent most of her time, reading, tending
her scrapbook and flowers, keeping track of her famous
daughter's travels, and nearly every day receiving visits
from some of us children. I have spent some of the
happiest hours of my life in that quaint room, telling
grandmother about my school life, what I wanted to be,
and reading to her such things, usually verses, as she or
I liked. She thought that I read well, and if the
" piece " was pathetic, I used to gauge my rendering of
it by the flow of tears from grandmother's eyes. I
watched them furtively on all pathetic occasions. Grad-
ually the lids would redden, a tear or two would drop,
her dear old lips would quiver — and I had succeeded.
Grandmother seemed to enjoy the weeping as much as
I enjoyed its implied praise. These " sittings " in her
room have overcome many and many an impulse on my
part to run away; and I can recall purposely going to
her room and society to try and conquer the temptation
that was besetting me, although I did not tell her what
I had come to her for. What she meant to the other
children I do not know, but, my mother being away so
much, and the governess representing solely discipline

MY LIFE

and control, grandmother became almost as dear to
me as my mother. Strange to relate, however, I was
never demonstratively affectionate with her, nor she
with me, whereas I was very distinctly so with my mother
when I was trying to be good. They tell a story about
me to-day of how, when after supper mother had settled
herself in one of the large chairs near the stove, I
would climb into her lap and say: " Hug me, mother,
I need it." Probably no lad ever needed mothering
more than I did, but out on the road, curiously enough,
while still quite young, I could dig a hole in a haystack
and fall asleep as easily as at home in my own bed,
which goes to show what a bundle of contrasts and mix-
tures I was. One day, as tractable a scholar and play-
mate as the village contained; the next, very possibly,
irritable, cross, moody and wavering, like a half-balanced
stick, between a vamose or home.

Grandmother's visits to our side of the house were
comparatively infrequent — she loved to be in her room
— but when we children got to fighting, her tall, majestic
form and earnest face were sure to appear. " Children,
children! " she would cry, " ' tis for dogs and cats to
bark and bite. Josiah, leave Robert alone ! " On one
occasion the governess had been utterly powerless to
control us, and my older sister and I were determined
to " do up " Rob, grandmother's pet, once and for all.
We thought that he had been teasing us unmercifully,
and we went at him, sister unarmed and I with a stove
poker. How I managed it at the time I cannot say
now, for he was decidedly stronger and larger than I

REST COTTAGE

was; but I succeeded somehow, with sister's help, in
getting him down on the floor, where I was whacking
him manfully with the poker, sister looking on well satis-
fied, when grandmother appeared. " Josiah ! " she
shouted, stamping her foot, " let your brother up."
Whack went the poker, and, of course, Rob yelled. In-
deed, the noise made during this fisticuff exceeded that
of any previous encounter, and the neighbors probably
said: "Those Flynt children are at it again."
" Josiah ! " my grandmother roared this time, " I'll have
the police, this can't go on. Release your brother
instantly." I gave him a final whack, and judiciously
retreated with the poker and my sister. Rob was for
renewing the attack, but grandmother led him off to her
room for repairs, and the physical victory at least was
ours.

But all of our days were not accompanied by battles.
Several days, perhaps, could go by, without even harsh
words being spoken, and peace reigned on both sides
of the house, which, before we children got into it, was
gladly known as and called " Rest Cottage." In name,
and except when our quarrels went echoing through the
older side, grandmother's part was also in fact a haven
of rest for herself and my much traveled aunt. But I
have often thought that if some of the many pilgrims
who have gone to the village merely to see the house
could have surprised us children in one of our quarrels,
they would have scouted the propriety of the cottage's
name.

When my brother was away, which was the case more

MY LIFE

often than not, after he refused to continue his school-
ing, I was inclined to idealize him, and when he had been
absent, say for several months and news came of his
home-coming, I was very proud and happy. On one
occasion he came back with his voice much changed, it
had begun to take on a mannish tone, and I was pro-
digiously impressed with this metamorphosis, running
secretly to grandmother, and whispering: " Rob's back!
His voice has gone way down deep," and I put my hand
on my stomach by way of illustration. My brother's
elevation on a pedestal in my imagination, however,
never lasted long, because we invariably crossed tem-
pers within a few days, and that meant vulgar
familiarity.

For years, nevertheless, I persisted in using him as a
bluff in all threatening fisticuffs with playmates of my
size, whether he was at home or not. " If I can't lick
you," I was wont to say, " Bob can, and he'll do it,
too." For a time this boast kept me out of all serious
entanglements, but I had posed so long as a win-
ner, and had bragged so much about what Bob could
do, that a Waterloo was inevitable, and at last it came.
Bob was unfortunately for me away from home at the
time.

The fight was a fixed-up affair among three brothers,
the second oldest being desirous of giving me a good
hiding as a preliminary advertisement of his prowess.
The four of us met by agreement in the alley behind
" Rest Cottage," and my antagonist and I were soon
at it. He was easily a half-head taller than I was, and

REST COTTAGE

a good deal stockier, but I think that I had said that
I could whip him, and I honestly tried to make good.
He remained cool and collected, delivering well directed
and telling blows on my physiognomy. The gore ran
from my nose, and tears of rage from my eyes, as never
before or since. But I fought on blindly, hitting my
adversary only occasionally, and even then with very
little force. At last, utterly beaten and exposed, I ran
from the field-of-battle, shouting back over my shoulder,
" Bob'll do you all up, you spalpeens." My grand-
mother mopped my battered face, and tried to console
me, but it was a hard task. I knew what she didn't
know, that my bluff had been called, and that I was
no longer an uncertain quantity in the village fighting
world; I had been " shown up." For days I shunned
my regular playmates, and I can say that after that
defeat I never fought another mill, and I never expect
to fight one again. In five minutes I was completely
converted to the peace movement, and have earnestly
advocated its principles from the day of the fight to this
very moment.

When my aunt was at home " Rest Cottage," or
rather her side of it, was a regular beehive of industry.
Secretaries and typewriters were at work from morning
till night, while my aunt caught up with her voluminous
correspondence in her famous " Den." Although we
did not always get on well together, almost invariably
through my waywardness, I desire to say now, once and
forever, that she was one of the most liberal minded
women I ever knew ; and as a speaker and organizer, I

MY LIFE

doubt whether in her time there was any woman who
excelled her. Had she devoted her life to more popular
subjects than temperance and woman's rights, literature,
for instance, she would take very high rank to-day in the
lists of great orators and writers. She preferred by con-
viction to devote herself unreservedly to the unpopular
agitations, and her following was therefore found prin-
cipally among women who agreed with her at the start,
or who were won over to her opinions by her persuasive
gift of language. In England, she was not infrequently
likened unto Gladstone, and in Edinburgh, where she
spoke during one of her visits to Great Britain, the stu-
dents, after the meeting, unhooked the horses and them-
selves pulled her carriage to her hotel. Her statue in
Statuary Hall in the capitol at Washington is the only
statue of a woman found there; it was presented by the
State of Illinois.

To live in a celebrity's home of this character was a
privilege which, I fear, we children did not appreciate.
It was a Mecca for reformers of all shades and grades
from all over the world, and we children grew up in an
atmosphere of strong personalities. The names of many
of the men and women who visited our house have
escaped me, but I recall very distinctly John B. Gough.
On this occasion he was entertained by my mother, my
aunt being absent from home. He was an old man with
white hair and beard, and was in charge of a niece, if
I remember correctly, who tended him like a baby. A
local organization had hired him to speak for them in
the " Old First." His speech was as successful as

REST COTTAGE

usual, and the church was crowded, but the old gentle-
man was tired out when he got back to the house, and
was rather querulous. My mother had prepared a light
supper for him of milk, bread and butter and the like,
but it was not to his taste. " I need tea," he declared in
no uncertain tones, and tea had to be made, the delay
increasing the old agitator's impatience. On getting it,
he found it too weak, or too strong, or too hot, and the
upshot of the affair was that he left us rather out of
sorts, but not before receiving $200, his fee for the
lectures. He tucked the roll carelessly into a small over-
coat pocket, and then took his leave. Old age had begun
to tell on him very plainly, and not many years after
he died.

Francis Murphy, John P. St. John, nearly all the later
candidates for the Presidency on the Prohibition ticket,
and of course the prominent women agitators of the
time, found their way to " Rest Cottage," sooner or
later. The place itself, although comfortable and cozy,
was very modest in appearance, but it probably sheltered
at one time or another during the last fifteen years of
my aunt's life, more well-known persons than any other
private home of the Middle West. My aunt also kept
in touch with a great many people through her corre-
spondence. She believed in answering every letter
received even if the reply were shipped back with defi-
cient postage, and she knew by letter or personal
acquaintance all the great men and women of her day,
that I have ever heard of. If an author's book pleased
her, she wrote him to that effect, and often vice versa.

MY LIFE

On the appearance of Edward Bellamy's " Looking
Backward " she was distressed that he had not elimi-
nated alcoholic beverages from the programme of his
Utopia, and wrote him to this effect. He replied, very
simply, that the thought had not occurred to him, which
must be his excuse, if excuse were necessary, for over-
looking the matter.

In the village my aunt was easily the main citizen
of the place so far as fame went. There were many
who did not agree with her notions of reform, but the
village, as a whole, was proud to have such a distin-
guished daughter.

When criticising my escapades and backslidings, my
aunt, I have been told, was wont to say that, " Josiah has
character and will power, but he wills to do the wrong
things." No doubt I did. If companions joined me in
a runaway bout, it was I, as a rule, who planned the
" get-away " ; only on one or two occasions was I per-
suaded by others. More or less the same motives actu-
ated me in running away from " Rest Cottage " as had
formerly prevailed when living in the old brown house,
but I am inclined to think now that, consciously or
unconsciously, I would get tired of living entirely with
women, and that this also may have had something to
do in starting me off. Except when my brother was at
home, which was at this time only infrequently, I was
the only male human being living at " Rest Cottage ";
from grandmother down to my younger sister all the
other inmates were females, and there was a feminine
atmosphere about things which used to get on my nerves

REST COTTAGE

more than my mother realized. My dogs — I generally
had two — were males, and many is the consolatory stroll
we have taken if for no other reason than to consolidate
our forces.

My love of dogs goes back as far as I can remember,
and I have always tried to have some representative of
this species around me. The dog who stood by me at
" Rest Cottage " and helped me to increase the mascu-
line forces, was called " Major." Not only because he
was my constant companion, but also because he was
the source of one or two " spats " between my aunt
and myself, determines me to tell his story, or at least
what I know of it.

One evening, my mother returned late from the city
accompanied by a burly, black dog. I afterwards de-
cided that he was a cross between a Shepherd and a
Newfoundland. " I've brought you a dog," said
mother, and I jumped up with glee, being quite dog-
less at the time. The dog snarled, and drew close to my
mother. In fact, he sat at her feet throughout the
evening meal, refusing to have anything to do with me,
although he accepted in very friendly fashion the
advances of my sisters. I concluded with disappoint-
ment that he had been a woman's dog. My mother
told us how she had come by him. " On leaving
the depot in town," she said, " and starting for
my office, this dog jumped suddenly before me, barked,
and evidently, from his actions, took me for his
mistress. I patted him, and went along to the
office — the dog followed. He went up to my office, and

MY LIFE

when I took my seat at my desk, he made a place for
himself near-by. At noon time I shared my lunch with
him. He spent the afternoon very decorously either
under or near the desk.

' When it came train time I thought that surely the
dog would scent his way home, but no ; he followed me
to the station, as if I was the only one in the world that
he knew, or cared to know. It seemed too bad to cast
such a dog adrift, and I asked the baggageman of the
train what he thought I ought to do. ' Take him home,
Missus,' he said, ' he's worth while and'll make you a
good beast.' We got him into the car, and he lay quiet
until we got here. The minute he was turned loose,
however, he scooted around in front of the engine and
up toward the Ridge as hard as he could go. I said to
the baggageman : ' There goes both dog and the quarter
for his fare.' ' The ungrateful beast,' the baggageman
replied, ' but perhaps he'll come back,' and sure enough
he did, after the train had pulled out again. He fol-
lowed me here to the house all right, and, Josiah, I am
going to give him to you."

It was the biggest dog I had ever owned, but posses-
sion, despite my mother's statement, looked doubtful —
the dog had decided that he belonged to mother. That
same evening my mother and I went out to call, taking
the dog with us. It was very dark, and before we had
gone a block, we missed the dog. " There," I ex-
claimed, when we moved on after fruitless whistles and
calls, " there, I told you to leave him at home, and now
you see I was wise. He's lit out." " Oh, I guess not,"

REST COTTAGE

my mother consoled me, and she was right, for, on
returning to our home, there was that big, black dog on
the rug waiting to be let in.

He stayed with us without a break for seven years,
learned to accept me as his master, and whip him
though I would at times, he won my respect and love
as no other dog ever had at that time. He was not
young when we got him, probably six years old at least,
so he lived to a respectable old age. In saying that
he was companionable, honest, more or less discreet, and
fond of us all, I have told about all that is necessary
about his personality. Tricks he had none, and he was
too dignified and rheumatic to learn any from me. He
merely wanted to be sociable, keep guard at night, and,
if it suited our convenience, his " three squares " a day,
but he very seldom asked for them, nor did he need
to. He had his likes and dislikes of course, like all
dogs, but if left alone, except when unusually rheumatic
and irritable, he bothered nobody.

He came to cause trouble between me and my aunt
in this way: She was at home a good deal, one winter,
when I was vainly trying to teach " Major " to haul
me on my sled. He disliked this occupation very much,
and the only way I could get him to pull me at all,
was to take him to the far end of the village, near our
old brown house, hitch him to the sled, and then let
him scoot for home. It's a wonder that he didn't dash
my brains out against trees and passing vehicles, but we
always got home without a mishap.

One morning, I was bent on a ride, and " Major "

MY LIFE

was on the back porch, nursing, or rather pretending to,
as I thought, his rheumatic legs. I treated him rather
severely, convinced that he was shamming, and he set
up a most uncanny howling. My aunt came rushing
down the stairs, saw what I was trying to do, and gave
me one of her very few scoldings — a chillier one I have
seldom received. Unless I could be more merciful to
dumb animals, she warned me in her clearcut way,
" Major" would be sent away; at any rate I was to
desist immediately from all further sledding with him,
and I did.

" Major's " end came after I had left the village.
He took a violent dislike to the groceryman, and when
the latter appeared in the backyard, was wont to snap
at the man's heels. Complaint was lodged against him
with the police, and one morning the chief came up, and
ended " Major's " rheumatism and further earthly
struggle with a bullet.

If I loved anything or anybody sincerely, and I think
that I did, I loved that dog. He was the first to greet
me when I would return home from my travels, and he
was usually the last to say good-bye. I hope his spiritual
being, if he had one, is enjoying itself, rheumatic-less
and surrounded by many friends.

My liking for children, particularly young boys, be-
tween three and five, if we can get on together, has
developed as my wandering tendencies have died out.
In early youth I cannot be said to have been very fond
of them. Indeed, I recall a most cruel thing I did to a
little baby girl, living near our old brown house. As I

REST COTTAGE

look back over the disgraceful affair now, it seems to
me one of the insanest things I ever did; but I have
heard another member of my family complain of being
similarly tempted at least, when young. The girl was
perhaps two or three years old, a chubby little creature
with fat, red cheeks, and large blue eyes like saucers.
She used to sit every morning in a high chair alone in
her mother's bedroom. I was at liberty to roam over
this house quite as freely as over our own, and was
accustomed to make early morning calls to find out what
my friend " Charley's " plans for the day were, and if
the coast was clear, to visit the little girl upstairs. Only
infrequently was I tempted to make the child cry, but
when this temptation came, I would pinch the girl's red
cheeks quite hard. At first she would look at me in
astonishment, a captivating look of wonder entering her
eyes. Another pinch, and still harder. The child's lit-
tle lips would begin to tremble, and the look of wonder
gave way to one of distress. I watched the different
facial changes with the same interest that a physician
observes a change for the better or worse in his patient.
Sometimes it seemed as if I were literally glued to the
spot, so fascinating did the child's countenance become.
A final pinch of both cheeks severer than either of the
other two, and my purpose was achieved, the aggrieved
girl giving vent to her pain and sorrow in lusty screams
and big, hot round tears. Then I would try to pacify
her, usually succeeding, and take my departure, nobody
the wiser about it all in spite of the crying. I can only
compare this cruel performance on my part, in purpose

MY LIFE

and intention at least, to the alleged cannibal feasts
which certain African explorers have been accused of
ordering and paying for. They obviously wanted to see
a human being cooked, served and eaten out of curiosity.
A similar motive impelled me to make those early morn-
ing calls and pinch that innocent child's cheeks — her
velvety skin seemed to me to be made for pinching, and
it was interesting to watch her preliminary antics pre-
vious to yielding completely to her emotions. I am glad
to report that this cruelty was not long practiced by me,
and that to-day actual physical suffering in man or beast
distresses me very much.

By the time our family had moved into the annex to
" Rest Cottage " my younger sister had grown in years
and stature so that she made a very acceptable playmate.
I recall very distinctly memories of her childhood which
show that the spirit of independence was pretty strong
in all of us children.

On the first occasion my sister was perhaps six years
old. My mother had sentenced her to confine her play
to the front and back yards for the day; under no cir-
cumstances was she to be seen in the street. I had
received a similar punishment.

What was my horror, or what I pretended to be such,
to discover " Mame " in the afternoon, well outside the
prescribed bounds, hobnobbing unconcernedly with her
girl friends as if punishment was something utterly for-
eign to her life. Pointing my finger scornfully at her,
I shouted: " You unexemplified hyena, come back within
bounds. You'll get licked to-night."

REST COTTAGE

" Mame " barely deigned to look at me, remarking
proudly :

" You don't suppose that I am one of those girls that
always mind, do you?"

On the second occasion my mother was at home and
able to correct my sister's disobedience instanter. The
day before, without a word of counsel with my mother,
" Mame " had gone to her particular girl friends, per-
haps twenty in number, and invited them to a party at
our house, a party which existed solely in her imagina-
tion. At the appointed hour, on the day following, the
children began to appear in their best clothes, asking
naturally for their young hostess. It did not take my
mother long to find out the truth, but she bided her time
until all the guests had arrived. Then, my sister being
forced to be present, the young ladies were told that
" Mame " had invited them to something which did
not exist, and, although she was very sorry, she would
have to send them away with that explanation. A
severer rebuke to " Mame " could not have been admin-
istered, and the party escapade was one of the very few
disobediences I remember her being connected with. She
was without doubt the most tractable and well-behaved
member of our quartette.

I shall never forget her conduct at my grandfather's
— my mother's father — deathbed. An uncle had come
to " Rest Cottage," warning us that grandfather was
dying, and telling us to go over to the sickroom where
grandmother and many of the other relatives were gath-
ered. " Mame " and I took rear seats, on a doorstep,

MY LIFE

if I recall correctly. My grandfather was unconscious,
and his sweet wife, my mother's mother, an invalid, sat
in her rolling chair, watching her mate and father of
her children, dying, the most lovely embodiment of
resignation and desire " that God's will be done," that
I can recall having seen. Of course, the women and
children were sobbing, and " Mame " and I joined them.
Pretty soon, I noticed that there was a lull in the sob-
bing— my grandfather had breathed his last and his
suffering was over — but " Mame " had not noticed it,
and continued to cry pretty noisily. " Let up, Mame,"
she claims that I whispered to her. " The others have
stopped." I don't remember making this observation
and advising " Mame " about it, but no doubt I did,
for " Mame " was nothing if not honest.

CHAPTER IV

EARLY COLLEGE DAYS

IN the foregoing chapters I have tried to give some
idea of the kind of boy I was, say by the time I had
reached my fifteenth year, or the calendar year
1884. There is no use denying that such wickedness
as I displayed was due more to willful waywardness than
to hereditary influences. Consequently, I have always
felt justified in replying to a distant cousin as I did when
she took me to task for making so much trouble and
causing my family such anxiety.

" Can you imagine yourself doing such dreadful
things when you get your senses back and are able to
think clearly? " was the way her question was worded.
My reply was: " In my senses or out of them, I cer-
tainly can't imagine any one else as having done them."
And I can truthfully say that, as a boy, I was very little
given to trying to shift the blame for my sins on other
boys. I was not a " squealer," although I was an expert
fibster when necessity seemed to call for a lie in place
of the plain, unvarnished truth.

In the spring or early autumn of 1884 my mother
and sisters went to Europe, and I was sent to a small
Illinois college. The village home was broken up and

MY LIFE

for better or for worse, the five of us, in the years that
were to follow, were to be either voluntary exiles abroad,
or travelers at home or in foreign parts. Since that final
break-up our complete family has never again been gath-
ered together under one and the same roof.

In spite of a manly effort to overcome them, two traits
dogged my steps to college as persistently as they had
troubled me at home — the love of the tempting Beyond,
and an alarming uncertainty in my mind about the mean-
ing of the Law of Mine and Thine. It was going to
take several wearisome and painful years yet before I
was to become master of these miserable qualities. They
were the worst pieces of baggage I took away with
me. My better traits, as I recall them, were willingness
and eagerness to learn when I was not under the spell
of Die Feme, a fair amount of receptivity in acquiring
useful facts and information, and for most of the time
a tractable well-weaning, amenable boy disposition. All
of these good qualities were scattered to the four winds,
however, when the call became irresistible. I stood to
win as a student, if love for distant fields could be kept
under control. Otherwise there was no telling what I
might become or do. Under these circumstances I began
my collegiate career in a denominational college in the
western part of Illinois. My mother, of course, hoped
for the best; and at the time of her departure it looked
as if I had definitely struck the right road at last.

I remained for a little over two years at college
advancing with conditions to my sophomore year. I
paid for my board and lodging by " chore " work in a

EARLY COLLEGE DAYS

lawyer's home in the town, so that the expenses my
mother had to meet were comparatively light. The
studies that seemed to suit me best were history, histori-
cal geography and modern languages. Mathematics and
Greek and Latin were tiresome subjects in which I made
barely average progress. Mathematics were a snare
and a delusion to me throughout my school and college
life in America. I mean sometime to pick up my old
arithmetic again and see whether maturer years may
have given me a clearer insight into the examples and
problems that formerly gave me so much trouble.

History, Geography and German, interested me from
the start, and I usually stood well in these classes. His-
tory took hold of me just as biography did, and I used
to read long and late such works as Motley's " Dutch
Republic," Bancroft's " History of the United States,"
Prescott's books on Mexico and South America, and an
interesting autobiography or biography was often more
appealing to me than a novel or story. Indeed, I read
very little fiction during the time I was at college, pre-
ferring to pore over an old geography and map out
routes of travel to be enjoyed when I had made enough
money to undertake them as legitimate enterprises, or,
perhaps, as a hired explorer, whose services commanded
remunerative prices. For a while the ambition to be
a lawyer struggled with my traveling intentions, and I
seriously considered taking a course in law in my bene-
factor's library and office when my academic course
should be finished; but this resolve never came to any-
thing because my academic studies were never finished.

MY LIFE

For two years, and more, I had struggled as hard as
any of my fellow students to support myself, keep up
with my class, and probably harder than most of them to
be " on the level," and above all things not to let Die
Feme entice me away from my new home and pleasant
surroundings. Many and many a time Die Feme would
whistle one of her seductive signals, and it was all I
could do to conquer the desire to go and answer it in
person ; but my studies, the work at home, and pleasant
companions helped me to resist the temptation, and, as
I have said, for about two years I attended strictly to
business, hearing Die Feme calling, from time to time,
but closing my ears to the enticing invitation.

My undoing at college had a most innocent begin-
ning, as was the case with so many of my truancies.
Often as not the impulse which drove me to the Open
Road was, taken by itself, as laudable and worth while
as many of those other impulses which inhibited run-
away trips. My ambition, for instance, to go to some
distant town, make my own way as a breadwinner and
student, and eventually become well-to-do and respected,
was in essentials a praiseworthy desire; but the trouble
was that I insisted that no one should hear from me or
know about my progress until I had really " arrived,"
as it were. I always demanded that the thing be done
secretly, and only as secrecy was an assured factor did
such a runaway project really appeal to me.

What broke up my college career, and eventually
impelled me to vamose was a simple trial contest of
essayists in the literary society of which I was a member.

EARLY COLLEGE DAYS

The winner in the contest stood a fair chance of being
chosen by his society to compete with the essayist of the
rival society in a general literary contest in the opera
house ; this was really the event of its kind of the year.
I was selected, along with two others, to try my skill
as an essayist in the preliminary family bout. Our
society was divided into two closely allied cliques, I
belonging to the " Wash B " coterie, and the most for-
midable contestant that I had to meet, being connected
with the " Camelites," as we used to call them. These
two really hostile camps made the society at election
time and on occasions when contestants for the pre-
liminary and opera house contests were to be chosen,
literally a wrangling, backbiting and jealous collection
of schemers and wire-pullers. The " Wash B " set had
all they could do to secure for me the place in the prelim-
inaries, which would doubtless determine the selection
for the real contest later on between the two distant
societies. But chosen I was, and for six weeks every
spare hour that I had was religiously devoted to that
wonderful essay. I forget the title of if now, but the
matter dealt tritely enough, I make no doubt, with the
time-worn subject — " The Western March of Empire."
The writing finished, " Wash B " himself took me in
hand, and for another month drilled me in delivery,
enunciation and gesture. My room-mate, when the
drilling was over, said that I was a perfect understudy
of " Wash B," who was considered at the time the
finest reader our society, and the entire college in fact,
contained. This criticism naturally set me up a good deal

MY LIFE

and I began seriously to entertain thoughts of winning
the prize, a small financial consideration. At last the
fatal night arrived, and we three contestants marched to
our seats on the platform. In front of us were the
three judges, formidable looking men they seemed at
the time, although I knew them all as mild-mannered
citizens of the town with whom I had often had a pleas-
ant chat. A neutral — one who was neither a " Wash
B " nor a " Camelite " — was the first to stand up and
read his essay. As I recall the reading and subject
matter of this first effort I remember that I thought that
I had it beaten to a standstill if I could only retain all the
fine inflections and mild gentle gestures which " Wash
B " had been at such pains to drill into me. I was
second, and stood up, bowed, and, as friends afterwards
told me, so far as delivery was concerned I was " Wash
B " from start to finish. The third man, an uncouth
fellow, but endowed with a wonderfully modulated voice
— he was really an orator — then got up and read almost
faultlessly so far as intonation and correct and timely
emphasis were concerned, a dull paper on Trade Union-
ism. This student was the one I particularly feared, but
when he was through and the three of us took our places
in the audience so many " Wash B's " told me that I
had won hands down, as they put it, that I gradually
came to believe that I had acquitted myself remarkably
well. The judges, however, were the men to give the
real decision, and they thought so little of my effort
that I was placed last on the list — even the neutral with
practically no delivery had beaten me. Later he came

EARLY COLLEGE DAYS

to me and said that he never expected to take second
place. The uncouth " Camelite " with the banal paper,
but wonderful voice, carried the day, and was declared
winner of the prize. My chagrin and disappointment
seemed tremendous for the moment, and the fact that
a number of " Camelites " came to me and said that I
ought to have been given the prize did not tend to lessen
the poignancy of the grief I felt, but managed to con-
ceal until I was well within the four walls of my room.
There I vowed that never, never again would I submit
an essay of mine to the whims of three men, who, in
my judgment, were such numbskulls that they let them-
selves be carried away by a mere voice. " They never
stopped to consider the subject matter of our essays at
all," I stormed, and for days I was a very moody young
man about the house. The " Wash B's " tried to con-
sole me by promising to elect me essayist for the grand
contest in the opera house in the autumn, but although I
deigned reconciliation with my defeat, the truth was
that I was brooding very seriously over this momentous
failure as it seemed to me. I shunned my former boon
companions, and was seen very little on the campus.
The defeat had eaten into my soul much more deeply
than even I at first imagined possible, and as the days
went by, a deep laid plot for a runaway trip began to
take form and substance. As soon as I realized what
was going on I struggled hard to drive the plan out of
my head, but while I had been mourning over my failure
as an essayist and particularly as a " Wash B " essayist,
the subtle, sneaking scheme had wormed its way into

MY LIFE

my very sub-consciousness, and before I knew it I was
entertaining the tempter in no inhospitable manner.
After all, it was a consolation to know that at a pinch
I could throw over the whole college curriculum, if nec-
essary, and quietly vamose and, perhaps, begin again in
some other institution where my crude, but by me highly
prized, literary productions would receive fairer treat-
ment. I had a feeling that a runaway trip would be
the end of my college career, and there were influences
that struggled hard to hold me back; I have often won-
dered what my later life would have been had they
prevailed. Never before had I been so near a complete
victory over Die Feme, and never before had I felt
myself the responsible citizen in the community that my
college life and self-supporting abilities helped to make
me. Then, too, my good friend and counselor, the
lawyer, was a man who had made a very great impres-
sion on me — an achievement by no means easy in those
days of rebellion and willful independence. I knew
about the hard fight that he had made in life before I
went to his home. He had often visited in our home,
and I had been much impressed with his set, cleancut
countenance. Some would have called it hard unless
they knew the man and what he had been through. I
studied it with particular interest, because I knew that
every now and then I also struggled hard to do right,
and I wondered whether my face after complete mastery
of myself, if this should ever come to pass, would some
day take on the terrible look of determination and vic-
tory which was so often present in that of the lawyer.

EARLY COLLEGE DAYS

All of his victories I cannot report upon, because there
must have been many, very many, of a minor character,
that he had to work for every day of his life. But
the one that took him out of the gutter, and gave him
strength to quit, at one and the same time, over-indul-
gence in liquor and the tobacco habit, was the one that
took hold of me, although I hardly knew what whisky
tasted like myself and was only intermittently a user
of tobacco. The fact that the man had overcome these
habits by sheer will-power, " without getting religion,"
as had often been told me, was what took hold of my
sense of wonder. Both in my home, and in the lawyer's,
so far as his good wife was concerned, I had been taught
to believe, or, at any rate, had come partially to believe,
that all such moral victories, indeed, that all conquests
over one's rebellious self, had to come through prayer
and Divine assistance, or not at all. I had never wholly
accepted this doctrine, although it probably had a
stronger hold on me than I knew. But the lawyer —
ah, ha ! here was at last a living, breathing witness to
the fact that prayer and Divine help were not indispen-
sable in gathering oneself together, putting evil habits
aside, and amounting to something in the world. I did
not say anything about the discovery I had made; but
I studied my hero closely, and treasured highly all facts
and fancies which rather intimate contact with him called
forth, and which substantiated the original and primal
fact — i.e., that will-power and not " conversion " had
made him one of the noted citizens of his community
and one of the prominent lawyers of his State.

MY LIFE

I do not know whether he knew in what great respect
I held him or not. This much is certain, however; he
almost never looked at or spoke to me severely, and he
was constantly doing something kind or useful. I wish
now that I had been old enough to have had a square
talk with him about will-power and Divine help. He was
not a very communicative man, and it is possible that
he would not have consented to enter into such an inter-
view, thinking perhaps that I was too young to discuss
such matters from his point of view. So I lived on,
looking up invariably to him as an example when it was
necessary to grit my teeth and overcome some slight
temptation. His wife, who was really a second mother
to me, saw to it that I attended church and studied my
Bible — the college authorities demanded attendance at
church, and on Mondays called the roll of all those
who had or had not been present at church the day
before — but somehow she never had the influence over
me that her white-haired, clean-shaven stalwart husband
did. It was her constant prayer and hope that " Gill,"
as she called him, would eventually get religion and be
assured of heavenly peace. He frequently attended
church with her, and certainly his efforts were as exem-
plary as the college president's, but I have heard it said
that, if he believed in any theology at all, it was in that
miserable, foolish doctrine — silly creation of weak minds
— that a certain number of souls are predestined to
damnation anyhow, and that his was one of them on
account of the wild life he had led in his younger man-
hood. This " story " about my hero also took hold of

EARLY COLLEGE DAYS

me very perceptibly, and I often used to look at the
man's fine face surreptitiously, and wonder what could
be going on in a mind that had become resigned to
eternal punishment. I could not follow him this far in
his philosophy, but I have long since come to the con-
clusion that the man was too sensible to entertain any
such theory, and that the " story " was the mere patch-
work of a number of wild guesses and injudicious sur-
mises on the part of relatives, and his lovable, but not
always careful, wife.

One day, a relative of mine, known as " The Dea-
con," came to the town at my hostess's request, and held
some revival meetings, or, perhaps, they were called con-
secration meetings. " The Deacon," although an ardent
Methodist, I believe, and a determined striver for the
salvation of men's souls, was not one of the conventional
boisterous revivalists whom we all have seen and heard.
He was quiet and retiring in his manner, and seemed to
rely on the sweet reasonableness of the Bible and his
interpretation of it to convince men of the need of salva-
tion, rather than on loud exhortation and Still louder
singing. He was very deaf, and when I called him for
breakfast, mornings, I had to go into his room and
shake him, when he would put his trumpet to his ear and
ask " what was up." I would tell him that it was time
for him to be up, and he would thank me in that strange
metallic voice which so many deaf people have, or
acquire.

He spent much of his time talking with his hostess,
and, one morning, rather injudiciously, I think, he told

MY LIFE

her of a friend of his, " just your own husband's size,
weight and years," who had suddenly dropped dead in
Chicago. This incident took hold of the good woman
in an unfortunate way, and when I saw her, she had been
crying, and was bewailing the fact that her " Gill "
might also drop off suddenly before getting religion.
There was nothing that I could say beyond the fact
that he seemed to me good enough to drop off at any
time; but with this his wife was not to be consoled.
" Gill must give himself up to God," she persisted, and
I retreated, feeling rather guilty on these lines myself,
as I was not at all sure that I had given myself up to
God, or would ever be able to. He was such a myth
to me, that I found it far more practicable to study the
character and ways of the lawyer whom I knew as a visi-
ble, tangible living being.

It may be that my adoration for my benefactor — I
really think it amounted to that — was not the best influ-
ence that might have been exercised over my mind; it
has been suggested to me in later years, for instance,
that it was probably at this time that I laid the founda-
tion for that firm belief in will-power, which, for better
or for worse, has been about all that I have believed in
seriously as a moral dynamic for a number of years. Be
this as it may, for years after leaving college and the
lawyer's home, my recollection of him, of his brave fight
to do right, and of the friendly interest he took in me,
contributed more than once to help tide me over a spell
when Die Feme was doing her utmost to persuade me
to throw over everything and chase foolishly after her.

EARLY COLLEGE DAYS

Now, that the good man is gone, I regret more than
ever that I allowed that miserable essay contest to
stampede me as it did. The first departure from col-
lege and the lawyer's home was a failure. I halted fool-
ishly an entire day at a town not far from the college,
and the lawyer, suspecting that I might do this, sent
on two of my college friends — older than I was — to
scout about and try and locate me. They succeeded in
their mission — one of them was the noted " Wash B,"
who had tried so hard to teach me how to read an essay.
They did their utmost to persuade me to return, but
I was obdurate, and they went back without me. In
an hour or two the lawyer himself appeared on the scene,
and then I had to go back and knew it. He said very
little to me, beyond asking me to give to him such funds
as I possessed. In the afternoon he called on a brother
lawyer who, as I could judge from the conversation,
was in some serious legal difficulty. When we were in
the street again my captor said: " Josiah, there is a
man who is going to the penitentiary." He spoke very
slowly and impressively, but did not offer to tell me why
the man was going to be shut up or when, and I was
sensible enough not to ask.

Returned to our home the lawyer made no reference
to my unconventional leave-taking, and apparently con-
sidered the matter closed. It was decided, for the sake
of my feelings, that I should not return immediately
to college, and I hugged my room as much as possible,
anxious to keep out of sight of my classmates, who, I
felt sure, knew all about my escapade. There I brooded

MY LIFE

again over my poor success as an essayist, my lack of
will-power to bear up under defeat, and I also tried to
plan out another escape from what seemed to me a
terrible disgrace. One afternoon, when I was particu-
larly gloomy, the fat, cheerful president of the college
knocked at my door. He had come to have a heart-to-
heart talk with me, I learned, and I was soon on the
defensive. He laughed at my bashfulness about going
back into college, pooh-poohed my assertion that I was
" no good anyhow and might better be let go," and in
general did his utmost to cheer me up and make the
" slipping back " into my classes, as he put it, as simple
and easy as could be. But, good man, he labored with
me in vain. The next day, some funds coming to hand,
I was off again, for good and all. The well-meaning
president has long since gone to his final rest. The
following morning I was in Chicago, and very soon after
in my grandmother's home. Die Feme was only indi-
rectly to blame for this trip because I made for the only
home I had as soon as I decamped from college, refusing
to be lured away into by-paths. Die Feme was only
in so far to blame that she originally suggested the deser-
tion of my studies, offering no suggestions that I paid
any attention to, about an objective. I — poor, weak
mortal — was terribly to blame in throwing away, after
two years' straight living, the chance that was offered
me to complete my college course, and later to go and
become a lawyer. And yet — balancing what was con-
sidered a golden opportunity at the time, against the
hard school of experience it has since been my lot to go

EARLY COLLEGE DAYS

through, and what the teaching that I have had means
to me now, I confess to a leaning in favor of the hard
knocks and trials and tribulations of the road as the
more thorough curriculum for me at the time of life
they were endured, than would have been the college
course and a lawyer's shingle. It is difficult, of course,
to decide in such matters, but somehow I think that the
world means more to me in every way to-day, in spite
of what I have pulled out of, than it ever could have
meant on set academic and professional lines.

The stay in the home village was not a prolonged one,
long enough, however, to ponder over the change in my
life which I had so domineeringly brought about — to go
back to college was out of the question, and the lawyer
did not want me back. My capriciousness had exhausted
his patience, and he frankly said that he washed his
hands of the " case." To remain in the home village
was also out of the question, according to my aunt. It
was there that I had first shown my dare-devil pro-
clivities, and in her opinion it was best to get me as far
away from former village associations as possible. Be-
sides, it was not thought wise to have me in the care of
my aging grandmother, who could only incidentally keep
track of me.

I wondered myself what was best to do, not caring
for another runaway trip right away, and temporarily
regretting very much that I had been so silly over that
picayune essay. There was nothing I could think of
that seemed feasible, and it was just as well that I did
not lose my head over some personally cherished plan,

MY LIFE

because my resourceful aunt had already found an
asylum for me. It was a farm in western Pennsylvania,
owned by some distant relatives. Here I was to help
care for crops and stock, and see what living in the open
would do for my over-imaginative head. I was to
receive my board and twenty-five dollars for the season's
work, a huge sum it seemed to me when first mentioned,
for I never before had possessed such wealth in actual
cash. I went to work with zeal, and determination to
learn all I could about farming. For a number of weeks
all went well, in fact, until I made an excursion with an
older friend and his fiancee, and a girl, who was the
first, I believe, that I thought I really liked. I never
told her name to my family, beyond calling her
" Jeminy Jowles," which was as much a real name
as mine was. For some reason, for years after this
temporary attachment, which on my part, at least, was
genuine and spontaneous, I never wanted my family to
know that I was interested in any particular young lady,
and as I told above, I feigned indifference to nearly all
girls rather than be thought " teched " with admiration
for any one or two. After our return from our outing,
" Jeminy " returned to the lake to help take care of
one of the villas there, as a number of girls did at that
time, and are doing now, I have no doubt. " Jeminy's '
departure made the village very dull for me, and the
farm absolutely distasteful. So, one day, I asked my
cousin to give me what he thought was my due, out of
the promised twenty-five dollars. I told him that I
was going to New York State to see if I could earn

EARLY COLLEGE DAYS

more money. He knew about " Jeminy " being there,
and as he thought that something profitable might de-
velop out of our friendship, I was given my money and
then hied away to the New York resorts, and " Jeminy."
The latter had to work so hard all day and well on into
the evening that I saw very little of her, but I remem-
ber dreaming and thinking about her, when I had to
wander about alone. I spent very little time in looking
for a job on account of my moving, and before long I
determined to look elsewhere for work. What was my
chagrin, when returning on the day that the faithless
" Jeminy " was about to depart for her home, to see her
coming down the wharf from the boat with a former
admirer, clothed in fine raiment, whom I had ousted in
" Jeminy's " affections in the little farming village in
Pennsylvania. I surmised him to be possessed of a fat
bank-roll, judging by his independence and " only board
in this sidewalk " manner of appropriating " Jeminy '
for his very own, and of his giving me a very distant and
critical look, which my somewhat worn clothes no doubt
deserved. That was the end of my first and last real
love affair. Jilted, funds very low, and no employment
in sight — here was a situation worthy of any boy's best
mettle. Perhaps the jilting hurt worse for the time
being, but the necessity of replenishing my funds helped
me to forget it somewhat. By rights I should have
returned to Pennsylvania and gone to work again on my
relative's farm. But there I should have seen the faith-
less " Jeminy," perhaps her old admirer as well, and I
was in no mood for such encounters. No ! I was not

MY LIFE

going to allow the village to make fun of me, even if I
starved elsewhere. Besides, what chance would my old
clothes have in a competitive contest with those of my
rival? Obviously a very slim one. Fate was tempor-
arily against me in that direction, I was sure, and I cast
my eyes toward the north — probably because " Jeminy "
and the farm meant south. The west did not attract
me just then, and the east — New York constituted the
greater part of the east to me in those days — seemed
too complicated and full of people.

One night I " hopped " a freight train bound for
Buffalo, and secluded myself among some Standard Oil
Company's barrels in a box-car. In a wreck I should
probably have come to grief in the midst of all that oil,
but no wreck had been scheduled for that ride. My
possessions consisted of what I had on my back and a
few nickels in my pocket. In this fashion I hoped to
impress the mighty north. That old dream about disap-
pearing from the view of friends, making my way alone
in the world, and then returning independent, successful
and well-to-do, buoyed me up, even when " Jeminy's "
desertion of me was most tantalizing.

I finally fell asleep on top of the mighty Trust's
property, to dream of honest efforts to succeed, if not of
wonderful triumphs. At heart I desired that the reali-
zation of my dream of future prosperity and fame should
come through honorable toil and struggle. Indeed, dur-
ing this period of youth, and even earlier, I cannot recall
any disappearance or runaway trip on my part which
did not presuppose a " square deal " in my account with

EARLY COLLEGE DAYS

the world; theoretically, at any rate, honesty was as dear
an asset to me as to the boys who staid at home and
were regular. That sitting on the mighty Trust's bar-
rels and " hooking " a ride in a car which had been
chartered and paid for by others was not a " square
deal " did not occur to me. And to deliver myself of a
confession on this score once and for all, I can say that
I have never had any serious pricks of conscience on this
account. There is no defense to offer for such obtuse-
ness, any more than there was for my using half-fare
tickets, when I had the wherewithal to buy them, until
I was over seventeen. I merely report the fact as symp-
tomatic of all passengers, good, bad and indifferent, who
" beat " their way on our railroads. I have read of a
" freak " who notified a railroad company that he had
stolen a certain number of rides on its trains, estimating
the probable cost of tickets for the computed mileage,
and enclosing a post-office order for a small amount of
the entire sum, as his preliminary payment in making
good. Perhaps this man actually existed, but it is more
likely than not that he was either a reporter's invention
or, if real, that he merely tantalized the railroad com-
pany with a statement of his indebtedness, omitting to
enclose the post-office order. No " hang-out " gathering
of hoboes would ever believe such a yarn — not even
about a " gay-cat."

My freight train stopped very early in the morning
in the railroad yards at East Buffalo, and there I got
out. Stumbling over tracks and dodging switch engines,
I made my way to what turned out to be the yardmas-

MY LIFE

ter's headquarters; his office was upstairs in the dingy
wooden building, while below was a warm room where
switchmen could rest. It was a cold September morning,
the sun not yet up, and that warm room looked very
inviting. I finally screwed up enough courage to enter,
and I found myself all alone. Switchmen came in later,
but they barely noticed me until I excused my bold
entrance, and frankly confessed that I was looking for
work. My clothes — they were not good enough to
court " Jeminy " in, but never mind! They saved the
day or the situation in that shanty. It was plain to the
switchmen that I was not a tramp, and my subdued man-
ners evidently made a good impression also. Later the
night yardmaster, a jovial German, came in and learned
of my plight. He looked me over carefully, quizzed me
rather minutely about my last job and my travels, and
finally told me to make myself comfortable near the fire
until quitting time, when he promised to have another
talk with me. That second talk was the beginning of a
series of mishaps, which, could the good yardmaster have
foreseen them, would certainly have made him hesitate
before securing for me the position which his influence
enabled him to do. The mishaps will be described later
on, but I must refer to them here on account of that
second interview with the German. Whatever else we
may or may not wonder about in life, it has always
seemed to me interesting to speculate about what might
have happened to us of a momentous nature had certain
very trivial and insignificant circumstances in earlier life
only been different. How many men and women, for

EARLY COLLEGE DAYS

instance, on looking back over their lives, discover just
such slight events in their early careers, and realize, long
years after, how important these events were, after all.
Only the other day I made the acquaintance of a man,
now a resident of Hawaii, who explains his present suc-
cess and permanent home there by a much-advertised
eruption of a local volcano. He was a poorly paid tele-
graph operator in Oregon at the time of the eruption,
which occurred just as he was thinking about what to do
with his vacation. He finally decided to see the volcano,
even if it cost him all his savings, and off to Hawaii he
sailed — and there he stayed. Opportunity after oppor-
tunity came to him, and he had succeeded. Why? The
man says, " On account of that derned old spouter."
Qui lo saf

What would have happened later if that yardmaster
had not looked me up again and put me through another
series of questions I, of course, cannot say. But it is
easily possible that something very different from what
I have to report upon in Part Second might have hap-
pened. The immediate result of that second interview
with the yardmaster was that he promised me a position
as " yard car reporter," and took me into his own home
at the very cheap rate of $15.00 a month for board and
lodging, there remaining for me to save or spend, as I
saw fit, $20.00 out of the $35.00 which was my monthly
stipend — a princely sum I thought, at the time, not ex-
ceeded in its wonderful effect as a salary, until years after,
when $300.00 a week, for two months or so, once again
gave me more or less the same inflated sense of joy which

MY LIFE

the $35.00 a month had formerly also been able to
achieve.

The car reporting proved more difficult for me than
the yardmaster had anticipated. First of all I had to
learn the names and location of all the different tracks
in the yards at East Buffalo. I studied them mainly at
night, because this was when I was on duty. It ought
to be stated immediately that I never mastered their
geography or nomenclature satisfactorily, and that my
reports about the numbers and ownership of the cars
were very faulty. As I recall these reports to-day I fear
that officially I sent many a car out of the yards that
remained at home, and that I unintentionally reported
as safe in port an equal number of cars that, for aught
I know, may to this day be wandering about aimlessly
over the prairies. However, I was not to hold this posi-
tion long, so no great damage was done, I hope.

Writing about my early years and bidding good-bye
to them here in print has been a harder task than I
expected. Bidding good-bye to them formally and phys-
ically years ago was not difficult. To reach twenty-one,
then thirty, then — I always looked on thirty as a satisfy-
ing goal, the years seemed to come and go so slowly.
Then, too, I realized, after a fashion, that my youth
was considered pretty much of a fiasco, and I wanted to
get just as far away from failure and disaster as possi-
ble. Now — well, perhaps it is better that I keep my
thoughts to myself. I will say, however, that retrospec-
tion can bring with it some of the most mournful hours
the mind has to wallow in.

CHAPTER V

MY FIRST IMPRISONMENT

A FRIEND, on receiving word that this book was
being written, and that it was intended as a
L wind-up, for the time being at least, of my
Under World reportings, wrote to me as follows :

" Whatever else you do or don't do, don't forget to
get some romance into the story. I mean that you
should try to get some poetry — oh, yes, I mean poetry —
into your account of yourself. Merely a string of dates
and facts will not go."

Perhaps the reader may be able to find some scat-
tered bits of intended " poetry " in this Second Part,
but on looking it over myself the " bits," if they exist
at all, are so widely scattered that I cannot locate them.
Yet I had to write this section of the book to make it
coherent and connected, " poetry " or no " poetry."

My car reporting in East Buffalo lasted just a week.
Then my benefactor, the night yardmaster, and I went
to Buffalo proper one day. The yardmaster soon found
other friends and, telling me to amuse myself, left me
to my own devices. Perhaps, if we had remained
together this second part of my book would tell a very
different story than it does, perhaps — But something

MY LIFE

in me says : " What is the use of ' perhapsing ' at this late
hour? Go ahead and blurt out the truth." I am not
sure that there is much use in " perhapsing," but some-
how it seems impossible for me to throw off the habit.
At times it is so strong that I have caught myself going
back to my lodging three times to make certain that no
coals had fallen out of the grate — when there was no
more probability of such a thing happening on the third
inspection than on the first. " And yet," I have rea-
soned, " perhaps a live coal might have fallen out and
burned up the whole place had I not taken a last look
and made sure."

So it is in looking back to that day alone in Buffalo —
the inevitable perhaps comes to my mind, and I wonder
what would have happened if I had simply staid with
the yardmaster, which I was very welcome to do had I
been so minded.

What I did during the morning and early afternoon
I do not recall now ; probably I merely wandered about
the streets and took in such sights as attracted me. Of
this much, however, I feel certain : there was no great
Wanderlust in my intentions. My work on the railroad
interested me not a little, and I had already begun to
calculate the amount of savings I should have at the
end of the year. As the day wore on I remember meas-
uring how much time I should need to get back to sup-
per and work, and up to the middle of the afternoon
it was my firm determination to report for work early.
Then — ah yes, then! I saw a horse and buggy stand-
ing idle in one of the main thoroughfares. What it

MY FIRST IMPRISONMENT

was that prompted me to get into the buggy and drive
blindly onward I cannot say, even now. As I have
remarked, my job was satisfactory, I was my own
" boss " in the daytime, the horse and buggy no more
represented personal wealth to me at the time than did
one of the stores, and there was no reasonable excuse
for a wandering trip. But something, strict church
people might say the devil, prompted me to throw over
the job, run the risk of being sent to prison as a horse
thief, and to ride away with buggy and horse for parts
unknown. There is no wish on my part to palliate this
crime in the least; I merely want to know why I com-
mitted it. At the moment of driving away it no more
occurred to me to turn the outfit into gold than it did to
turn back. On I went for a good hour, regardless of
direction and the police. Then the seriousness of my
offense gradually began to dawn on me. What should
I do? At first I contemplated leaving the horse with
some farmer, thinking that its owner would eventually
locate it. But I threw over this plan. It was too late
to report for work, and the growing darkness brought
on a mild attack of Wanderlust. " Why not proceed
as far as possible under the cover of night," I reasoned,
"and then leave the rig somewhere in good hands?"
I had at last found a road going in the direction I
desired at that time to follow, if the car-reporting job
was to be given up, and my mind was pretty definitely
settled on that score, although a week's wages were
due me.

Midnight found me on still another road, and going

MY LIFE

in a new direction, my mind having changed during the
ride. I put the horse into a barn, fed him, and then we
both fell asleep. Early morning found us en route
again, and no police in sight. By this time the desire
to elude capture was very strong, and the wonder is
that I succeeded with detectives by the half dozen beat-
ing the bushes in various directions. The third day out
I reached my destination in Pennsylvania, the home of
an acquaintance who dealt in horses and knew me well.
My possession of such a valuable horse and fashionable
phaeton carriage was satisfactorily explained; they were
bought at auction, I boldly declared, and represented
the result of my savings during the summer. To make
a miserable story short, I will merely say that the horse
and buggy were turned over to my friend for a money
consideration, quite satisfactory to me, but far below
what the outfit was worth. It might still be where I
parted with it, so far as the astute " detectives " were
concerned. It was voluntarily returned to the owner
before long. Several weeks later another horse and
buggy in my custody arrived at my friend's house, and
again the flimsy tale of a " bargain " and inability to
resist it was told. It was the silliest " bargain " I ever
went in for. Having attended a fair in a neighboring
town, not over ten miles away, and having lost my train
home, I boldly appropriated a " rig " and drove home
in the most unconcerned fashion possible. My credu-
lous friend complimented me on my luck in buying
horses, and would no doubt have bought this second
outfit from me had something not happened.

7.8

MY FIRST IMPRISONMENT

About midnight an ominous knock was heard on my
friend's outer door. As I felt must be the case, it her-
alded the arrival of the constables — the horse had been
seen and located! There was a bare chance of escape,
but as I look back on the situation now the probability
is that I should not have got far away before being
captured. Some of the villagers, who had also been
aroused, were much incensed at my arrest and forced
departure, declaring that " no boy in his senses would
intentionally steal a horse so near home. There must
be some mistake. Probably the boy had mistaken the
rig for one that he had been told to get, etc., etc." But
their arguments availed nothing, and I was taken away.
The committing magistrate made quick work with my
story in the lockup, and soon I was lodged in the county
jail — my second imprisonment in about eighteen years.
(I looked, perhaps, fifteen.)

Die Feme, everything in fact that I had ever really
cared for, seemed irretrievably lost. Yet no tears came
to my eyes, and I walked into the miserable " hall " of
the jail, said " Hello ! " to the other prisoners, as if such
a place and companions were what I had always been
accustomed to. This ability, if I may call it such, to
get along with almost everybody, and for a reasonable
amount of time to put up with practically any kind of
accommodations has been of great service to me. I
notice, however, that in later years " home comforts "
are becoming more and more a necessity. My constitu-
tion seems to demand a quid -pro quo — and wants fair
treatment after patiently enduring so many hard knocks.

MY LIFE

This first real imprisonment and the jail deserve a
minute description.

A number of years ago I contributed to The Forum
an article, entitled " The Criminal in the Open." The
main thesis supported in this paper was that criminolo-
gists had previously been studying the criminal within
too narrow bounds — the prison cell; and that to know
their man well they must make his acquaintance when
free and natural. In general, I still hold to this belief;
but on looking back to that first jail experience of mine
I am more than ever convinced that as a people, a prac-
tical people, too, we are woefully neglecting our duty
in continuing the present county jail system with all its
accompanying evils; and that it is most distinctly " up
to " both criminologist and penalogist to work for radi-
cal changes in the present system.

My own experience in that old jail to which I was
committed, to wait for trial, is typical of what happens
to the average prisoner in most of our jails. The jail
building was uncommonly old, but the rules applying
therein were about the same that one finds in all country
jails; in cities the rules are more severe and exacting.

Soon after entering the jail corridor, or hall, as I
have called it, one prisoner after another — they were
free to roam at will in the corridor until bedtime — ac-
costed me and, directly or indirectly, tried to find out
what I had been " sent up for." I told them quite
freely about the charge against me, and in turn learned
on what charges they had been shut up. There did not
happen to be any murderers or violent offenders in the

MY FIRST IMPRISONMENT

jail just then, but when found in jails such inmates circu-
late quite as freely among the possibly innocent as the
older prisoners in my jail associated with the young boys.
A few of the prisoners were serving jail sentences for
minor offences, but the majority, like myself, were wait-
ing for trial. There were burglars, pickpockets, sneak
thieves, swindlers, runaway boys, and half-demented
men who were awaiting transportation to suitable insti-
tutions. In the daytime, from seven in the morning
until eight or nine at night, we were all thrown together,
for better or for worse, each one to take his chances, in
the corridor on the main floor. Here I passed many a
dismal hour during the six weeks I had to wait for
sentence. At night we were locked in our cells on the
tiers above the corridor, two and three men being lodged
in one cell. It is only fair to state, however, that the
cells were so unusually large and commodious that even
four men could have been comfortably lodged in one
cell. We were all supposed to keep quiet after the
sheriff had locked us in for the night, but in the day-
time we were free to play games, laugh and generally
amuse ourselves. We cooked our own food. Once a
week an election was held, and a new cook was installed;
those who knew nothing about cooking were expected
to help wash the dishes and keep the corridor clean.
There was no work to do beyond these simple duties.
It was consequently necessary for us to get exercise in
walking, " broomstick calisthenics," as we called our
antics with this instrument, and in climbing up and
down the stairway. A liberal supply of tobacco was

MY LIFE

furnished us every morning, and we also got one or two
daily newspapers. Our food was simple, but more or
less satisfying: Bread, molasses and coffee for break-
fast; meat, potatoes and bread at noon; bread, molasses
and tea for supper. Those who had money were per-
mitted to send out and buy such luxuries as butter, sugar
and milk. All in all, it was probably one of the
" easiest " jails, if the prisoner behaved himself, in the
whole United States, and I have nothing to criticise in
the humanitarian treatment shown us by the sheriff ; the
jail itself, however, was an eyesore — unsanitary to the
last degree, and pathetically insecure had there been
expert jail-breakers in our company.

It was the total absence of classification of prisoners,
and the resulting mixing together of hardened criminals
and young boys, to which attention is mainly called here.
From morning till night the " old hands " in crime were
exchanging stories of their exploits, while the younger
prisoners sat about them with open mouths and eyes of
wonder, greedily taking in every syllable. I listened
just as intently as anybody, and was hugely impressed
with what I heard and saw. The seriousness of my
offense advanced me somewhat in the scale of the youth-
ful prisoners, and at times I was allowed to join a
" private " confab, supposed to be only for the long
initiated and thoroughly tried offenders. This privi-
lege, and the general tone of " toughness " which was
all over the prison, had its effect on me, I am sorry to
say, and I began to bluster and bluff with the rest.
Indeed, so determined was I to be the " real thing " or

MY FIRST IMPRISONMENT

nothing at all— almost entirely the result of association
with the older men — that I was at first unwilling that
my lawyer should try to secure a reform-school sentence
for me. " If I'm to be sentenced at all," I ordered,
" let it be to prison proper. I don't want to associate
with a lot of kids." Fortunately, my lawyer did not
follow my suggestion.

Meanwhile, Sentence Day, that momentous time,
which all prisoners await with painful uncertainty, was
drawing nigh. Trials, of course, were to come first,
but practically every court prisoner knew that he had
been caught " with the goods on," and that Sentence
Day would claim him for her prey. My trial was soon
over. My lawyer had " worked " very adroitly, and I
received sentence immediately — the reform school until
I had improved. I remember feeling very sheepish
when I was taken back to the jail; such a sentence was
meant for a baby, I thought, and what would the " old
hands " think? They came to the door in a body when
I was brought back, demanding in a chorus : " How
much, Kid?"

" A year," I romanced, meaning, of course, in the
penitentiary, and faking an old-timer's smile and non-
chalance. Later they were told the truth, and then
began a course of instruction about " beating the Ref,"
escaping, to which I paid very close attention.

A few days later the other trials were finished, and
Sentence Day was definitely announced. The men to
be sentenced put on their " best " for the occasion, those
having a surplus of neckties and shirts kindly sharing

MY LIFE

them with those who were short of these decorations.
A hard fate stared them all in the face, and each wanted,
somehow, to help his neighbor. They were as nervous a
collection of men while waiting for the sheriff as one will
find in a moon's travel. They all expected something,
but the extent of this something, the severity which
the " old man," the judge, would show them, was what
made them fidgety. It was an entirely new scene to me,
and I watched intently the countenance of each prisoner.
My medicine had been received; I knew exactly what
was ahead of me, and did not suffer the feeling of uncer-
tainty troubling the others. Finally the sheriff came.
" All ready, boys," he said, and the convicted men were
handcuffed together in pairs and marched over to the
courthouse. In a half-hour they had returned, a re-
markable look of relief in all of their faces. Some of
them had been given stiff sentences, but, as one man
put it, " Thank God, I know what my task is anyhow " ;
the terrible suspense and waiting were over.

The next day we were to be taken to our different
destinations, insane asylum and workhouse for some,
the " Ref " and " Pen " for others. Breakfast was our
last meal together, and the sheriff's wife sent in little
delicacies to make us happier. The meal over, our
scanty belongings were packed up, each man and boy
put on his best, once more, final good-byes were said
to those who remained behind, and the march to our
new homes began. Some are possibly still trudging to
new places of seclusion at the State's request and de-
mand, others have very likely " squared it " and are

MY FIRST IMPRISONMENT

now stationary and good citizens, while still others have
perhaps " cashed in " here below, and have moved on
in spirit to worlds where the days of temptation and
punishment are no more. Since the day we left the old,
musty jail I have never run across any of my jail
companions.

CHAPTER VI

IN A REFORM SCHOOL

IF some one could only tell us exactly what should,
and should not, be done in a reform school a great
advance would be achieved in penalogy, which at
present is about as much of a science as is sociology.
Both— and criminology can be thrown in, too — always
reminded me of a cat after a good sousing — they are
quite as much in earnest in shaking off what does not
agree with them, or what they think does not agree
with them, as is the cat in drying itself; but again, like
the cat, the shaking often seems to make them look more
ragged than ever.

The most that I can attempt to do here is to describe
the Reform School I learned to know in Pennsylvania,
and tell what it accomplished and failed to accomplish
in my case.

The superintendent was the brother of one of the
most astute politicians and officeholders this country has
produced. He held his position largely through his
brother's influence, and might just as well have been
given any other " job," so far as his particular fitness
for public office was concerned. In spite of all this,

IN A REFORM SCHOOL

however, he was a fairly kind and just man, and proba-
bly did right according to his light and leading.

The institution sheltered some three hundred boys
and girls, the latter being officially separated from the
boys; the "safeties," however, the boys who had the
run of the farm, saw not a little of them. The place
was arranged on the cottage plan — the boys of a cer-
tain size being toed off to a certain cottage. For in-
stance, I was placed with lads much younger and far
more inexperienced than I was simply because I was
their height. It struck me at the time — and I am even
more impressed to-day — that this was a very peculiar
way of classifying prisoners, particularly boys. Far
more important, it seems to me, is a classification based
on age, training, experience, disposition and tempera-
ment. But the great State which had taken me in
charge practically overlooked all of these matters in
locating us boys in the different homes. Who was to
blame for this I cannot tell, but one would think that
the superintendent would have thought out something
better than the system we had to live under. Right
here is the trouble in so many penal and reformatory
institutions — what other superintendents and wardens
have found " good enough," their latest successor also
finds " good enough " ; the wheels and cogs have been
kept going on the old basis, and the new-comer is afraid
to " monkey " with them during his term of office.
Many a prison in this country merits a good overhaul-
ing, and while exposure of misuse of public funds is
the order of the day, and new blood is being called for

MY LIFE

in so many quarters, it might not be a bad plan to
examine carefully into the management of our peniten-
tiaries, workhouses, reform schools and jails.

There was no wall around the school to which I had
been committed, a fact which I noted immediately on
my arrival. In place of a wall, and as supposed safe-
guards against escapes, the superintendent had a shriek-
ing whistle for both day and night, and a huge, flaming
natural gas-light, more particularly for night, although
the miserable thing, as I considered it, burned the
entire twenty-four hours. There were five divisions,
or cottages, for the boys, including the main building,
which could hardly be called a cottage. Unless my
memory plays me false, I was in Division G, next to
that of the " biggest " boys, yet I was considerably
older and certainly more traveled and " schooled "
than many of the latter. Theoretically each inmate
was to remain in the school until twenty-one, unless rel-
atives or friends took him away after he had earned the
requisite number of good-conduct marks. Ten was
the maximum daily number, and five thousand were
required before good conduct was considered established
and a release permissible. The day was about equally
divided between study and work, but being outclassed
for study in Division G, I was allowed to work all day
in the brush factory. Punishment was measured accord-
ing to the offense, sometimes also according to the num-
ber of marks a boy had and the proximity of his release.
But in general these rules prevailed : For minor offenses,
" standing in line " — a sentence involving loss of the

IN A REFORM SCHOOL

privilege of play and the necessity of toeing a mark with
other victims during recesses; for serious offenses, a
prescribed number of lashes with a leather strap, a re-
duction in the boy's marks, and imprisonment in a cell
on bread and water. Some boys had long since earned
their five thousand marks, and were theoretically — there
is so much that is theoretical in State institutions — en-
titled to their freedom. But no relatives, friends or
employers coming forward to vouch for their safekeep-
ing " outside," they were compelled to stay on until
somebody came to their rescue.

The word " outside " characterized a great deal of
the life in the school. Used originally exclusively in
penitentiaries, the boys had appropriated the word for
their own use as well, although there was no wall, and
the " outside " was as plainly visible as the " inside."
Under restraint and kept within bounds we certainly
were, but it was considered smart and " wise " to use
the prison expression. Consequently every boy with
any gumption in him was continually thinking about
what he would do when free again, when the great
" outside " would be open territory once more.

We also had an institutional lingo, or slang, patterned
as much as possible after the dialect used by " the real
thing," the crooks in the " Pen." Guards became
" screws," bread and water " wind pudding," detectives
" elbows," and so on. When among ourselves, in shop,
schoolroom or at play, aping " the real thing," the
crooks, and their mannerisms, or what we took to be
such — and nearly all the boys had had preliminary jail

MY LIFE

experiences and had associated with crooks — was a con-
stant amusement for all, and with many a serious study.
This posing was one of the worst things taught and
learned in the school. Originally intended to be very
humanitarian and modern in purpose and organization,
to be a disciplinary home rather than a mere place of
incarceration — witness the absence of a wall and the
cottage system of housing — the boys themselves were
defeating these ends with their prison conversations,
things they had learned at the taxpayers' expense in
various county jails.

Speaking generally, the boys were divided into two
sets or rings — the " stand-patters " and the " softies."
The former were the boys of spirit and adventure, the
principal winners in their classes as well as on the play-
ground; the latter were the tale-bearers, the mouthy
ones — " lungers " was also a good name for them —
who split on the " stand-patters " when " lunging it "
promised to gain favors for them. Whatever else I
did or did not do while in the school, I fought very shy
of all officers who tried to get me to " peach " on my com-
panions. This may not have been a virtue, but it
secured good standing for me among the boys of spirit
and enterprise, and I think that any boy wanting agree-
able companionship in such a place would naturally turn
to the " stand-patters." Of course, my selection of
cronies was watched by the officers and made a mental
note of to be used later on, either for or against my
record, as it suited the purposes of the observing over-
seer, as were many other things that I did or failed to

9°

IN A REFORM SCHOOL

do. In general the officers were fair-minded and reason-
able, but thinking them over now, with the exception of
one or two, they were not particularly adapted for
reform-school work; they were mainly men who had
drifted into the life accidentally, and had clung to it for
want of something better to do. They were judged by
the boys according to their varying abilities in wielding
the strap. Some were strong and heavy, and were
called " sockdologers " ; others, not so effective physi-
cally, were dubbed " lightweights." At night we slept
in dormitories, leaving all our clothes except our shirts
in the basement, an arrangement which made night
escapes difficult. In the main the dormitory life was
clean and correct, indeed very much cleaner than cell
life in many of our prisons and jails. The daily pro-
gramme, as I recall it now, began at five-thirty in the
morning in summer and at six in the winter. The great
whistle started the day, and we all had to jump out of
our beds, make them, and then in single file march to
the basement, where we washed and dressed. Soon
after came the molasses-and-tea breakfast, after which
we had a half-hour or so on the playground. Recrea-
tion over, we were toed off into two squads, one for the
schoolroom and the other for the factory. There were
also " detail " boys, inmates of long standing who could
be trusted as messengers, in the bakery, plumbing shop,
and at different occupations in the cottages and on the
farm. I made a bold and early bid for a " detail " job,
but with no success. The superintendent told me that
only those boys of whom he was sure received such posi-

MY LIFE

tions, and I retired with the knowledge that he was not
sure of me, and the determination to make him keep on
guessing about me indefinitely. At noon sharp, came
dinner, followed by another half-hour of recreation,
when school and factory started again. Six o'clock saw
us all at supper, and nine in bed, the intervening time
being spent in the playground and in the school-
room.

One day there was a revolution in the factory. One
of the older boys had thrown a wrench at a brow-beating
guard, and had been well beaten for his disobedience —
beaten and hit with the man's fist, the boy claimed. At
recess there was a hurried consultation among the
" stand-patters."

" Let's hike it to the Super's office and complain,"
some one suggested, and before we had half seriously
considered what we were doing, away we scampered to
the superintendent's office in the main building, the
officer to be complained about following leisurely after
us. It was as clear a case of mob insanity as I have
ever seen; the battered and bloody face of our com-
panion so incensed us that rules and regulations were
thrown to the winds. Indeed, if all of us had kept on
going, so fleet were our feet, probably half could have
gotten away for keeps then and there. But escape
was not in our minds. We wanted, and were going to
demand, if possible, the dismissal of the overbearing
guard. At first, as is the case with nearly all mobs, the
various boys wanted to talk at once, and the superin-
tendent had considerable difficulty in getting our side

IN A REFORM SCHOOL

of the story. We were then ordered to the schoolroom
of our division, the superintendent desiring to interview
the guard alone. The upshot of the affair was that the
guard resigned and each boy received fifteen lashes with
the strap. The superintendent personally attended the
thrashing. Our first officer, a mild-mannered, much
bewhiskered man, who had always treated me very con-
siderately, was the first to wield the strap. We boys
sat in our seats with folded arms, awaiting our turns.
Finally mine came. The officer looked at me disap-
pointedly; he did not seem to want to punish me. He
had to obey orders, however, just as we boys did, and
I received my fifteen lashes. During each " whaling "
the other victims looked on intently, like children about
to sit down at a Thanksgiving dinner; they wanted to
see if the " whaled " one would " squeal." Excepting
a more or less half-witted lad, who had run with the
rest of us for no other reason than that he " saw us
going and thought we were playing follow the leader,"
none of us whimpered. The first officer gave out
completely after ten boys had been punished, and a
substitute — the school carpenter — took his place. I
remember how glad I was that my turn came under
the first officer's regime, and when he had begun to
wobble.

Although the much-disliked factory guard had dis-
appeared, the revolt and " whaling " set the escape
thoughts going in the minds of four boys at a very much
accelerated speed. Such thoughts are always on top, as
it were, wherever human beings are shut up — even in

MY LIFE

hospitals; but the four lads — I was one of them — put
their heads together and plotted as never before. A
fight, and a subsequent order to stand " in line," sent my
desire for freedom soaring uncommonly high. One of
the " softies " and I had clashed for some reason or
other, and a " whaling " at night, besides " standing in
line," stared us in the face. Throughout the afternoon
I pondered over ways and means to reach the great
" outside," taking four trusted " stand-patters " into
my confidence; they also wanted to go. For different
reasons punishment of some kind awaited all of us, and
as I was almost sure of a thrashing for fighting, I con-
cluded that, if caught, I might as well make it do duty
for trying to escape as well. All the boys calculated on
such lines very nicely.

It was finally decided that the most practicable plan
was to jump from the schoolroom window, when we
were marching in line to the basement, to undress for
the night. The distance to the ground was perhaps
twenty feet, but during the afternoon we studied very
carefully the probable spot we should land on, and all
felt equal to the adventure. We should have to make
the escape in bare feet, and without coats, but we
decided that we didn't want the tell-tale jackets anyhow,
and we thought we could smuggle our socks and caps
into the schoolroom without detection.

That last evening in the schoolroom was a very
nervous one, for four boys at least. From time to time,
when the officer was not looking, we exchanged signifi-
cant glances to make sure that there had been no defec-

IN A REFORM SCHOOL

tion in our ranks. Our caps and socks were hidden in
our clothing. At last the whistle blew, books were put
away, and the order to form line was given. My mind
was firmly made up. Even if the other boys weakened
I was going through the open window and on to the
" outside." For some reason I felt as if success awaited
me, and barring the drop from the window and a possi-
ble immediate capture, I feared very little. I was the
first to take the drop. Suddenly I fell out of line,
scrambled over the sill, and — dropped into the dark-
ness. Whether the other three followed my example or
not I do not know; probably not, because my disappear-
ance made the officer reach threateningly for his
revolver, as I was able to see while going over the sill.
Once on the ground I waited for nobody, but went
tearing over the lawn, barefooted and bareheaded, in
the direction of the railroad track at the foot of the
slope. There I concealed myself under a fence, and in
a moment the great whistle told the surrounding coun-
try, with long blasts, that a " Ref " boy had escaped,
while the flaring light lit up the lawn and assisted the
officers in their search. Pretty soon I heard their voices
and hurrying footsteps all about me, but they never
came quite close enough to uncover my hiding place.
I must have remained under the fence two good hours
before I dared to proceed. This was about the conven-
tional time given to a search, and I remained silent as
the grave until all was quiet. Then, crawling rather
than walking, I made my way to the railroad bridge,
crossed it cat-like, and proceeded boldly toward the

MY LIFE

wooded hills opposite the school — the hills that I had so
often looked at longingly, and wondered whether I
should ever be able to cross without being captured.
The underbrush and fallen twigs and branches must
have hurt my feet, but the scratches and bruises were
hardly noticed in the excitement of getting away. And
although the night had become fairly cool, and I had
nothing but shirt and trousers to cover me, I was liter-
ally in a violent perspiration when I reached the top of
the first hill, and looked back on the school and the
flaming light.

" Good-bye, brush factory and strap," I murmured.
" May we never meet again."

Early morning found me lying exhausted, with torn
feet and hands, near a roadway leading, as I saw, to
open fields where there were houses and barns. It
seemed as if during the night I must have traveled easily
twenty miles, but as a matter of fact I had covered but
four. The sun was not yet up, and I lay quiet for some
time, considering how the day would best be spent and
nursing my sore feet. Gradually an unconquerable
appetite and thirst came over me, which were accentu-
ated by the smoke issuing from the farmhouse chim-
neys. This was a sure token that the breakfast fires had
been started, and I recalled with relish the scant meal
that the boys at the school would soon be eating. How-
ever, I was free ! No guard was there to boss me
about, and I could linger or proceed, as I wished. But
that appetite ! Finally, in desperation, I determined to
risk my liberty and ask for something to eat at the

IN A REFORM SCHOOL

nearest farmhouse. It was impossible to proceed with-
out food, and I very much needed a new outfit of cloth-
ing, both for safety and looks.

My reception at the farmhouse was puzzling at first.
The good farmer and his wife gave me a bountiful
meal, but the former looked at me suspiciously, and
remarked that he had heard the school-whistle the night
before. His good wife, however, was very compas-
sionate and sympathetic. There was a grown-up son,
who also seemed to be on my side. Would the mother
and son win, I wondered. When the meal was over
the farmer frankly told me that he knew from my
clothes that I was a schoolboy, and that he did not
believe at all the story I had given him by way of expla-
nation. It was a case of run for dear life or ask for
mercy. I determined to trust to my powers of persua-
sion, and for one solid hour I pleaded with that farmer
not to take me back. He knew, and I knew, that he
would receive fifteen dollars reward for my return,
and as it was Sunday, and he was bound for church, the
side trip to the school would take him very little out of
his way.

" But it is against the law for me to help you to get
away," the farmer contended. " I can be fined for
doing it."

" Just give me some old clothes and shoes," I replied,
' and no one will ever know that you saw me. Besides,
I'll only go to the devil in that school. It did me no
good."

The farmer seemed to waver, and I turned to the

MY LIFE

son, asking him to intercede for me, telling him a little,
very little, about myself. He smiled. " Pop ain't
goin' to take you back, don't worry," he consoled me,
and it seemed as if a great stone had been lifted off my
back. Very few times in my life have I experienced the
same peace and thankfulness that were mine after the
son had spoken. Soon he brought me some old boots,
a coat and a different cap, for which I gladly exchanged
that of the school. When my pockets had been filled
with sandwiches and doughnuts, and the farmer had at
last finished cautioning me about being careful, I bade
these good people good-bye. If they should ever see
these lines, I want them once again to receive my heart-
felt thanks for their hospitality, and to know that their
kindness was not altogether misplaced.

All during that Sunday I remained hidden in some
woods, resuming my journey toward the West Virginia
state line at night. After five days' travel I crossed the
imaginary boundary — it was a living thing to me — and
was at last out of the jurisdiction of the superintendent
and his officers. Then began that long eight months'
tramp trip, during which I finally came to my senses
and said Adios to Die Feme forever — Adios in the
sense that never again was she able to entangle me in a
mesh of difficulties nor to entice me away from the task
set before me. She thought many and many a time
afterward, when the call of the Road was strong and
tempting, that she again had me in her toils. But
respectable vacation trips or bona fide investigations
in the tramp world sufficed to satisfy my Wanderlust.

IN A REFORM SCHOOL

Without doubt these excursions and investigations were
a compromise with the Road in a certain sense; the
wanderer's temperament lingered with me for years.
But Die Feme was beaten for all time.

To the school life and the ensuing eight months'
sojourn in Hoboland credit is also due for the disap-
pearance of my pilfering inclination. When, how, why,
or where it went, are questions I can answer but imper-
fectly to-day. It slipped out of my life as silently and
secretly as it had squirmed into it, and all that I can
definitely remember now in the shape of a " good-bye "
to it, on my part, is a sudden awakening, one morning
on the Road, and then and there resolving to leave other
people's property alone. There was no long considera-
tion of the matter, I merely quit on the spot ; and when
I knew that I had quit, that I was determined to live on
what was mine or on nothing, the rest of the Road
experience was a comparatively easy task.

I have said that I told the farmer who abetted me in
my escape from the school, that I should only go to the
devil if taken back to it. It is impossible to say now
whether this would have happened or not. But it is
unfair, as I think the matter over to-day, not to admit
that, with all its failings and drawbacks, the school life
helped to bring me to my senses. It set me to thinking,
as never before, about the miserable cussedness of my
ways, and it showed me in no unmistakable manner
where Die Feme would eventually lead me, unless I
broke with her. The long, wearisome tramp trip that
followed did what else was necessary to show me that

848I3RA

MY LIFE

kicking against the good, as I had been doing for so
long, was unprofitable and unmanly.

At one time in my life I seriously contemplated taking
an officer's position in a reform school, in the hope that
I might be of use in that way. Politics — they are plas-
tered over everything in our country, it seems — and
doubts about my fitness for such work, eventually de-
cided me against attempting it. But I desire to say
here, that for young men interested in institutional work,
and willing to make a number of sacrifices, I know of no
better field for doing good than in a reform school.
The more a candidate for such a position has studied,
traveled and observed the better. In Germany there is
a school or seminary where applicants for positions in
corrective and, I think, penal institutions as well, go
through a set course of training and study before they
are accepted. Something similar, minus the rigid Ger-
man notions of the infallibility of their " systems " and
" cure-alls," might be tried to advantage in this coun-
try. The work to be done is deserving of the most
sympathetic interest on the part of college and uni-
versity trained men who feel drawn to such activities.

ioo

CHAPTER VII

EARLY TRAMPING EXPERIENCES

HOBOLAND— Gay-Cat Country— The Road
— what memories these names bring to mind !
Years ago they stood for more than they do
now. There were not so many bona fide out-of-works
or tramps as at present, and the terms described distinct
territories and boundaries. Now, the hang-outs are
overcrowded with wandering " stake men," and the real
hobo, the " blowed-in-the-glass-stiff," more often than
not has deserted the old haunts and built for himself
new ones, hidden away in bushes or concealed in woods.
I think, too, that the real article, as he existed in my
day, is giving way, more and more, to the army of
casual workers and itinerant day laborers. Whether
he has " squared it " and lives respectably, or whether
he has broken again into criminal ranks and is trying
once more for the final grand " stake " that is to make
him independent and comfortable, I cannot say. It is
several years now since I have been on the real Road,
in the United States, and I only infrequently look up
old acquaintances in cities, where many of them are
stationary the year round. The Road of twenty years
ago, however, I learned to know during those eight

IOI

MY LIFE

months of travel, as probably few boys of my years and
bringing-up ever did know — or will know it. The word
Road was used as a generic term for the railroads, turn-
pikes, lanes and trails which all wanderers, professional
and semi-amateur, followed for purposes of travel,
" graft " and general amusement. Hoboland was that
part of the Road which the " blowed-in-the-glass-stifts "
were supposed to wander over — the highways and by-
ways where the men who would not work and lived by
begging alone were found. Gay-Cat Country, as unde-
fined in the geographical sense as was Hoboland, for it
stretched all over the United States, was the home and
refuge of those tramps who would work on occasions —
when winter came on, for instance, and box-cars grew
too cold and cheerless. In spring, like the modern
" stake " men, they gave up their jobs, and went merrily
on their way again, the Read having become hospitable
once more. Both Hoboland and Gay-Cat Country
dovetailed into each other after a fashion — one " hang
out," for example, often had to serve both sets of vaga-
bonds— but the intersecting was almost entirely physical.
The same railroads and highways were as open to the
Gay-Cats, provided they were strong enough to assert
their rights, as to the hoboes — the " hang-outs " also
at times; but here the association stopped. The hobo
considered himself, and really was, more of a person
than the Gay-Cat, and he let the latter know it. Conse-
quently, although both men in a year's time often covered
pretty much the same territory, each one called this
territory by a different name, and held himself pretty

102

EARLY TRAMPING EXPERIENCES

well aloof from the other — the hobo, on account of
pride and caste, the Gay-Cat because he knew that he
was unwelcome In the " blowed-in-the-glass ' circle.
To-day, I make no doubt that the Road is tramped over
by a hundred different species of vagrants, each having
its own particular name, and, perhaps, even territory.
The world has its shifts and changes among the outcast's
as well as in the aristocrat's domain, and I hear now of
strange clans of rovers that had not yet been organized
when I began tramping. So it is with everything, and
I should probably have difficulty now in finding the old
sign posts and " hang-outs " that I once knew so well.

My first appearance on the Road proper, after so
unceremoniously leaving brush factory and school-room,
took place, one night, at some coke ovens near the State
line toward which I was traveling. My boots had been
exchanged for shoes, the old cap had given way to a
better one, and the ragged coat had been patched. In
this fashion I climbed to the top of the ovens and said
" Hello ! " to some men who were cooking their coffee
in a tomato-can over one of the oven openings. I do
not recall now whether they were Gay-Cats or hoboes,
but they were at any rate very hospitable, which must
be said of both classes of men when separated. Thrown
together they are likely to be on their dignity — par-
ticularly the hoboes.

Coffee was given me, also bread and meat, and I was
shown how to fix some planks across the edge of the
oven for sleeping purposes. My inexperience became
only too apparent when I told the men that I had " just

103

MY LIFE

beat the Ref." The look they gave one another after
this confession was a revelation to me at the time, and
remains in my memory still as one of the earliest typical
hobo traits I remarked. What it meant to me at the
moment is not clear any longer; I probably simply made
a note of it, and resolved to know more about it later
on. Thinking it over, it seems to me that it epitomized
in a glance all the secret clannishness and " ear-wigging "
tendencies which the travelers of the Road possess in
such large and abundant measure. The " ear-wigging "
— listening — was plain to see when the men stopped
talking themselves, and gave heed to me, practically a
kid; the secrecy, when one of them kindly advised me
not to spread the news of my escape too promiscuously;
and the clannishness in giving a fellow roadster such
practical counsel.

That night on the coke ovens was uneventful, except
that all of us had to be careful not to roll off our perches
into the hot fires beneath us, which fact calls to mind
an experience I had later on in a railway sand-house in
Ohio. The sand was just comfortably hot when I lay
down to sleep, but I forgot that the fire might brighten
up during the night, and I lay close to the stove. What
was my dismay in the morning, on brushing off the sand,
to find that the seat of my best trousers had been
burned through over night. Fortunately I had two pair
on, otherwise my predicament would have been no
laughing matter.

Once over the State line, I made for Wheeling.
There was no particular reason in heading for that

104

EARLY TRAMPING EXPERIENCES

town, but in tramp life there is no special reason for
going anywhere. Time and again I have started north
or south with a well mapped out itinerary, and plans
fixed and set. Along came some roadster with a more
interesting route to follow, or what seemed to be such,
and my route, or his, was discarded in a moment. Thus
it ever was during the eight months; one day Chicago
might be my objective, and I fancied that I knew exactly
what was necessary to be done there. In a hundred
miles, as likely as not, something far more important, as
I thought, required my attention in New Orleans. Die
Feme has seldom had her wild calls more carefully
listened to by me than they were at this time. There
was no home that I dared go to, the world was literally
my oyster, and all I had to do, or knew how to do,
for the time being, was wander. Roadsters, who rail-
roaded as persistently as I did, seldom stopping for
more than a day or so, at the most a week end in
any one place, are called victims of the " railroad
fever."

In West Virginia I heard of a country district be-
tween the State line and Wheeling where it was easy
to " feed," where, in fact, travelers on the highway,
when meal-time came, were beckoned into the cabins by
the mountaineers to have a bite. Such localities are
called by tramps " fattenin'-up places." What with the
nervousness, incident to the escape, and the following
severe travels, I had become pretty thin and worn-out,
and the country district in the hills took hold of my
fancy. There is nothing of particular interest about the

105

MY LIFE

locality or my stay there to call for especial comment
here, except that the mountaineers were so friendly and
hospitable that I was able to build up my strength very
considerably for the struggle of existence in inhospitable
places further on. It was also a capital hiding-place
until the excitement over my departure from the school,
if there had been any, should subside.

In my other writings I have told pretty minutely what
I learned about tramp life during the eight months'
trip as well as on later excursions. There is conse-
quently not much left to tell on these lines except of a
pretty personal nature and as it affects the general prog-
ress of this autobiography. I shall therefore have to
skip hurriedly from district to district relating such inci-
dents as illustrate my position and experience in Hobo-
land, and estimating what this strange country accom-
plished for me and with me.

During the first month of my wanderings I was bed-
less, and frequently roofless. Indeed, when I finally
did rest or try to, in a bed, the experience was so strange
that I slept very little. A box-car, a hay-stack, a railway
tie drawn close to a fire — these were my principal lodg-
ing places during the entire eight months. It may have
been a hard outing, but it toughened and inured me
to unpleasantness which would certainly seem very unde-
sirable now. In a way, they were undesirable then. I
always laugh when a tramp tells me that he is happier
in a box-car than in a bed. He merely fancies that he
is, and I certainly should not like to risk offering him
my bed in exchange for his box-car. Yet at the time

106

EARLY TRAMPING EXPERIENCES

in question I was able to sleep uncommonly well in box-
car or hay-stack, and except when traveling at night,
eight hours' good rest constituted my regular portion.
In general, I kept track of the names of the different
States and large cities I visited, but, when asked to-day
whether I have been in a certain town, I am often at a
loss for an answer; I simply do not know whether I
have been there or not. On the other hand, certain
" stops " at comparatively insignificant places have clung
in my memory when much larger places that I must have
seen are dim and hazy. All told, I traveled in the great
majority of the full-fledged States of that period, and
visited many of the large cities.

At one of these minor " stops " in Michigan, I proba-
bly had a chance to experiment with that tantalizing
dream of earlier years — the notion that to amount to
anything I must go secretly to some place, work my way
into a profession, and then on up the ladder until I
should be able to return to my people, and say: " Well,
with all my cussedness, I managed to get on."

The town had the conventional academy and other
educational institutions which my dream had always in-
cluded in the career I had in mind, and there was a
hospitality about the people which promised all kinds
of things. I got my dinner at the home of a well-to-do
widow who very sensibly made me work for it, chopping
wood, a task that I was careful to perform behind the
house so that my companions, real hoboes, every one of
them, should not see me breaking one of their cardinal
rules. The work over, I was invited into the dining

107

MY LIFE

room for my meal, during which the good hostess asked
me rather minutely about my life. For some reason, I
was in the " self-made man ' mood at the time, and
told the woman about my desire for an education, and
later, a professional career. She came over to my seat,
examined my cranium, and then, turning to her daugh-
ter— a sightly miss — said: "The head is not at all
badly shaped. He may be bright."

" Let us hope so, for his sake anyhow," was the
daughter's rather doubtful comment. Before leaving,
the mother was rather insistent on my calling at the
office of a local lawyer who was reported to be " much
interested in young men, and their welfare." I prom-
ised to look him up, but somehow his time and mine
did not agree — he was not at his office — and perhaps I
lost another chance to be a legal light. As the weeks
and months went by, the dream of " self-madeness," as
I once heard a tramp describe it, became less and less
oppressive; at any rate, I noticed that merely because
a town or village harbored an academy and college, and
possibly a philanthropic lawyer, did not suffice to tempt
me out of the box-car rolling through the locality.
Nothing else in particular had come to take its place,
that I recall. But certain it is that the box-car, on a
bright, sunny day, rolling along, clinkety-clink, chunkety-
chunk, possessed temporary attractions which dreamy
self-madeness could not offer. This particular time in
my wanderings probably saw the height of the railroad
fever in me. It burned and sizzled it almost seemed
on occasions, and the distant whistle of a " freight '

108

EARLY TRAMPING EXPERIENCES

going my way, or any way, for that matter, became as
sweet a sound as was ever the dinner call or the recess
bell. To-day I can laugh at all this, but it was a very
serious matter in those days; unless I covered a certain
number of miles each day or week, and saw so many
different States, cities, rivers and kinds of people, I was
disappointed — Hoboland was not giving me my share
of her bounteous supply of fun and change. Of course,
I was called " railroad crazy " by the quieter roadsters
in whom the fever, as such, had long since subsided, but
I did not mind. Farther, farther, farther! This was
what I insisted on and got. In the end I had seen a
great deal, of course, but altogether too much of it only
superficially. Later tramp trips, undertaken with a seri-
ous purpose and confined to narrower limits, have netted
me much more lasting information and amusement.

Of accidents during my whirl-wind travels I am thank-
ful to say that there is very little to report. While other
men and boys were breaking legs, getting crushed under
wheels and falling between cars, I went serenely on my
way unharmed. There is a world of significance to me
now in the words: "Unknown man among the dead,"
printed so often in connection with freight-train wrecks.
They usually mean that one more hobo or Gay-Cat has
" cashed in " and is " bound out." Perhaps I came as
near to a serious mishap in western Pennsylvania as
anywhere else. I was traveling with a tall, lanky road-
ster, called Slim, on the " Lake Shore " Railroad. We
had been on the train the greater part of the night in
the hopes of reaching Erie before daylight. The

109

MY LIFE

" freight," however, had met with a number of delays,
and dawn found us still twelve miles out of Erie. We
were riding " outside," on the bumpers, and on the tops
of the cars. When the train stopped to take water we
cautiously hid in the long grass near the track, so that
the trainmen would not discover us. Pretty soon the
whistle blew and the train moved on again. " Slim,"
my companion, was the first to climb up the ladder, and
I soon followed him. By this time the car we were on
had reached the watering-plug, where the fireman had
carelessly left the swing arm pointing toward the train.
There was plenty of room for the train to pass without
touching it, but while climbing the ladder I let my body
swing backward some distance to see whether the crew in
the caboose were watching us. " Slim " was already on
top. Suddenly the arm of the watering apparatus
caught me on the hip, and I was swung completely over
it, falling luckily on my back, hands and feet on the
ground below, but with my left hand within about three
inches of the rail and wheels. I was so frightened that
at least two cars went by me before I ventured to move.
Then I slunk over to the grass to see how badly I had
been hurt. There was not a bruise or a scratch on me.
In a moment I was back on the train again, looking for
" Slim."

" You're a nice fellow ! " I said to him in no uncertain
tones of disgust. " Couldn't even look back to see
where I'd fallen, huh? "

" I did look back," he returned in an aggrieved man-
ner. " I saw the whole business. What was the use o'

EARLY TRAMPING EXPERIENCES

gettin' off when I saw 't you was all to the good? Be-
sides, I want to make Erie for breakfast."

Such are the " blowed-in-the-glass-stiffs." When in
a hurry and a meal is in sight, even nations can clash and
fall without influencing a hobo's itinerary one iota. Even
had my hand been crushed under the wheels, it is doubt-
ful whether " Slim " would have gotten off the train.
Erie once reached, and a good breakfast added to his
assets, he would doubtless have bestirred himself in my
behalf. One learns not to complain in Hoboland about
such trifles. I have also been guilty of seeing companions
in danger, with a calm eye and a steady lip.

My first " baptism of fire," when the " Song of The
Bullet " was heard in all its completeness, took place
in Iowa, or western Illinois, I forget which, this for-
getfulness being another testimony to the cold-blooded
indifference of the Road and its travelers as to time,
place and weather. Five of us were very anxious to
"make" Chicago ("Chi") by early morning of the
next day. Ordinarily, we had plenty of time, but we
failed to consider the railroad we were on — the C. B.
and Q., or the " Q," as it is moreTamiliarly known.
Some years previous the great " Q " strike had taken
place, affording so-called " scabs " from the East, who
were very liberally introduced into the " Q's " territory,
an opportunity to manage things for a time. Their lot
was not an easy one, and to be called " scabs " incensed
them not a little.

We determined to ride on an afternoon " freight " at
least far enough to land somewhere nicely about time

MY LIFE

for supper. I certainly remember catching the train in
Iowa, but whether the " Song of the Bullet " was sung
there or on the Illinois side of the Mississippi, I am at
a loss to say. On one side or the other the crew dis-
covered us, and insisted on our " hitting the gravel,"
getting off the train. We demurred.

" Get off, you dirty tramps," the conductor ordered.

We were not particularly dirty, and although we
might be called tramps and live up to the " calling,"
we believed that even as such, we were higher in the
social scale than were " scabs." The crew numbered
four. As I have said, we were five strong. Finally,
losing our tempers and judgment, we told the conductor
that we would not only ride in his train, but his caboose
as well, and we scrambled for places on the platform.
He tried to kick at us first, but fright at our numbers
soon overcame him, and, with an oath, he ran into
the caboose, shouting back, " I'll soon see who is run-
ning this train." We knew only too well what his
actions meant, and dropped off. In a minute he ap-
peared on the back platform with a revolver and opened
up on us. Fortunately, his train was moving ahead at a
fair pace and he was a poor shot. As I recall the inci-
dent none of us was particularly frightened, and there
was no such " Pingh-h " in the " Song of the Bullet "
as I have so often heard described. The " Pingh-h "
indeed I have never heard anywhere. The bullets that
the conductor sent our way went over our heads and
around us, with a whizzing whine. As Bret Harte
suggests in his bullet verses, it was as if the disappoint-

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EARLY TRAMPING EXPERIENCES

ment at not reaching us was overwhelmingly acute.
Since that experience other bullets have whizzed and
whined about me — not many, thanks ! — and it seemed
to me sometimes that they went purring on their flight,
and then again whining. Perhaps the purring bullets
found soft lodgment after passing me, but I hope not
if the mark was a human being.

An experience that I had in a railroad sand-house in
Wisconsin illustrates the definiteness with which the
hobo must frequently assert his rights. A man, called
" Scotchy " by some, " Rhuderick " by others, was my
companion at the time. We were the first-comers at
the sand-house, and wholly ignorant of a Wisconsin
collection of rovers, nick-named " The Kickers." These
Kickers, it appears, had been in the habit of running all
available tramp " stops " (sleeping places) to suit their
own nonsense, and if their so-called " spots ' at any
" stop " were found appropriated by others on their
arrival, no matter how late, they proceeded to drive the
alleged interlopers out, if they felt strong enough. They
were hoboes of a kind, but they were careful to travel
incognito when alone. " Scotchy " and I quite unwit-
tingly took three of the Kickers' places in the sand-house
in question, and were comfortably asleep when the
Kickers appeared.

" You got yer nerve on," said one of the burly
brutes to " Scotchy," tickling him none too gently in
the ribs with his toe-tip. " Get out o' there, an' give
yer betters their rights." The rasping voice and the
striking of matches wakened me also. Somehow, it

ii3

MY LIFE

may have been tramp instinct, for certainly the Road
develops such things, I felt impelled on the instant
to grab and capture the poker, and " Scotchy " secured
the sand-bucket.

"Me betters, huh?" cried "Scotchy," ominously
swinging his bucket. " This for you," and he brought
the bucket perilously near one of the Kickers' heads.
Matches were being struck on all sides, and it was not
difficult to see. The Kickers framed closely together
for their attack. They forgot, or did not know, about
my poker. Pretty soon another match was struck. The
Kickers had coupling pins, and looked formidable. I
was in a shadow. They consolidated their forces against
" Scotchy." His bucket, however, stretched one Kicker
flat before he had time to defend himself. Total dark-
ness and silence followed. Then a Kicker ventured
another match. This was my chance. The long poker
shot out, and the point must have hit hard in the temple;
at any rate, the wounded Kicker sat down. The remain-
ing Kicker risked still one more light, but on seeing his
disabled pals, he made for the door. Too late ! Other
hoboes, not Kickers, had arrived, " dope " lights were
secured, and the story was told. The poor Kickers were
" kicked " out of that sand-house as never before or
since, I am sure.

Such aggregations of tramps are met with throughout
Hoboland, and there are constant clashes between them
and itinerant roadsters traversing the gangs' districts.
The only thing to do is to fight shy of them when alone,
and if in force, to fight them; otherwise they become so

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EARLY TRAMPING EXPERIENCES

arrogant and despotic that no one, not even the mere
short distance trespasser, is left unmolested.

In spite of all the chances to get hurt, in feelings as
well as physically, that Hoboland offers to all comers,
I must repeat that I was able to explore its highways
and byways with very few scratches to my credit or
discredit. A small scar or two and some tatoo figures
constitute all the bodily marks of the experience that I
carry to-day. There were opportunities without number
for fisticuffs, but, as I have declared, I had long since
joined the peace movement, and regularly fought shy
of them.

A thirty days' sentence to jail, toward the close of
the eight months' trip, hurt and tantalized me more than
any of the wrecks oh railroads or disputes with bullies.
It came unfortunately, in June, the hoboes' favorite
month. Sleeping in a box-car at night was my crime.
I have described the arrest and general experience in one
of my tramp books, but I cannot forbear saying a few
words about the judge who sentenced me. At the time,
1889 I think was the year, he was police judge in Utica,
N. Y., where in company with a friend, I was caught.
The night's batch of prisoners were brought before him
at one and the same time — drunks, thieves, runaway
boys, train-jumpers, bona fide hoboes and Gay-Cats.
The court-room was a dingy little place with benches
for the prisoners and officers, and a raised platform
with a desk for the judge. I shall never forget how
the latter looked — " spick and span " to the last degree
in outward appearance, but there was an over-night look

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MY LIFE

in his face that boded us ill, I feared. " Just ez if he'd
come out of a Turkish bath," whispered an unfortunate
who had been found asleep in the streets. The judge
certainly paid little enough attention to our cases to
have come from anywhere, but a Turkish bath ought to
have left him more merciful. We were all punished
according to the judge's whims and the law's limitations,
the over-night look on the face of our persecutor, as we
considered him, deepening, it seemed, with each sentence.
My " thirty-day " fate rolled as easily from his lips as
did the five and ten-day pronouncements for the " alco-
holics "; he did not seem to know any difference between
them. Perhaps, in the years that have intervened, he
has been enlightened on this point. I hope so for his
sake, at least.

The sentencing over, we prisoners were taken to our
different destinations, mine being the jail at Rome, the
Utica prison being crowded. There is little to add here
to what I have long since told in print about my stay
there; but perhaps I have never emphasized sufficiently
the tramp's disgust at having " to do time " in June.
From May till November is his natural roving time, his
box-car vacation; in winter, jail, even the workhouse is
often more of a boon than otherwise. The Rome jail
consequently harbored very unwilling guests in the per-
sons of the few tramps lodged there. However, even
thirty summer days, precious as they are on the " out-
side," pass away sooner than one at first expects them to,
and then comes that glorious moment — thunder, light-
ning, not even a pouring rain can mar it — when the freed

116

Oliver Atherton Willard. Josiah Flynt's Father

THE NSW fORK
PUBLIC LIBRARY

ASTOR, LF.NOX AND ;
T1LDEN FOUNDATIONS

EARLY TRAMPING EXPERIENCES

one is his own master again. There may be other expe-
riences in life more ecstatic than this one, but I would
willingly trade them all temporarily for that first gasp
in the open air, and that unfettered tread on the ground,
which the discharged prisoner enjoys.

Of my status as a tramp in the general social fabric
in Hoboland, perhaps enough is said when I report that
before quitting the Road, I could have at any time
claimed and secured the respect due to the " blowed-in-
the-glass " wanderer. Yet I could make myself quite
as much at home at a " hang-out " of the Gay-Cats as
among the hoboes. Begging for money was something
that I indulged in as little as possible; at the start, it
was impossible for me to ask for " coin." My meals,
however, lodging and clothes were found by me in the
same abundance as the old-timer's. I had to have such
things, and as asking for them was the conventional
way of getting them, I asked persistently, regularly and
fairly successfully.

There is nothing to be said in defense of this practice.
It is just as much a " graft " as stealing is; indeed, steal-
ing is looked upon in the Under World as by all odds
the more aristocratic undertaking. But stealing in
Hoboland is not a favorite business or pastime. Hobo-
land is the home of the discouraged criminal who has
no other refuge. His criminal wit, if he had any, has
not panned out well, and he resorts to beggary and
clandestine railroading as the next best time-killer. Pun-
ishment has tired him out, frightened him, and the
Road looms up before him spacious and friendly.

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MY LIFE

I have often been asked seriously, whether the Road
can be looked upon as a necessary school of discipline
for certain natures; whether, for instance, as an anxious
mother of a wayward boy, once put the query to me,
" is there enough that is worth while in it, if looked for,
to overbalance that which is not worth while?" It
depends both on the boy and the treatment he gives to
and gets from his pals. In general, the Road is not to
be recommended — not for morals, comfort, cleanliness,
or " respectability." It is a backwater section of our
civilization; it is full of malaria and other swampy
things. Yet, with all its miasma, this backwater district
has sent many a good man back to the main Road, which
we all try to travel. In my own case, I can certainly say
that many desirable truths were revealed to me while
in Hoboland which it seemed impossible for me to
grasp until having had the Hoboland experience.

But to speak seriously of the Road as a recuperating
place for deteriorated morals, or as an invigorator for
weak natures, I can only say — in general, don't try it.
There are too many " building-up " farms and " nerve
strengthening " sanatoriums to make it necessary to-day
for any one to have to resort to Hoboland to be put
right again. Yet the Road will probably be with us,
for better or for worse, after the soothing farms and
disciplinary sanatoriums have dwindled away; I mean
such as may be patronized, say, in the next thousand
years or so. There were tramps thousands of years ago,
and I fear that they will be on the earth, if there be
an earth then, thousands of years hence. They change

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EARLY TRAMPING EXPERIENCES

a little in dress, customs and diet as the years roll by, just
as other people change. But, for all practical purposes,
I should expect to find the ancient Egyptian hobo, for
instance, if he could come to life and would be natural,
pretty much the same kind of roadster that we know in
our present American type. Laziness, loafing, Wander-
lust and begging are to-day what they ever have been —
qualities and habits that are passed on from generation
to generation, practically intact.

My longest Wanderlust trip came to an end in the
much maligned city of Hoboken, N. J. Some work
done for a farmer, near Castleton on the Hudson River
netted me a few dollars, and, one night in September,
in company of an aged Irishman, I drifted down the
river to the great city on a canal boat. The Irishman
got separated from me in the crowded thoroughfares in
New York, and I drifted alone over to Hoboken, bent
on an important errand, but doubtful about its outcome.
Little did I realize then what a hard task there was
ahead of me, and how great the change in my life was
to be, the task once finished.

119

CHAPTER VIII

MY VOYAGE TO EUROPE

TWENTY years ago, and probably at an earlier
date still, the traveler bound for Europe on
any of the ships, sailing from Hoboken, might
have seen, had he been curious enough to look about
him, a strange collection of men of all ages, sizes and
make-ups, huddled together nights in a musty cellar
only a few steps from the North German Lloyd's docks.
And, had he talked with this uncouth company, he would
have learned much about the ways and means necessary
to make big ships go and come on their ocean voyages.
Somewhat less than twenty years ago, say eighteen,
a greasy paper sign was tacked to the door of the cellar
for the benefit of those who might be looking for the
dingy hole. It read: " Internashnul Bankrupp Klubb —
Wellcome ! " The words and lettering were the work
of an Italian lad, who had a faculty for seeing the
humor in things which made others cry and sigh. In
years that have passed the sign has been blown away,
and a barber to-day holds forth where the " Bank-
rupps " formerly lodged. The store above, a general
furnishing establishment for emigrants and immigrants,
has also given way to a saloon, I think, and the outfitting

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MY VOYAGE TO EUROPE

business of former days has developed, in the hands of
the old proprietor's sons, into a general banking and
exchange affair near-by around the corner. The old
proprietor has long since been gathered unto his fathers,
I have been told; but the boys possess much of his busi-
ness acumen and money-getting propensities and are
doing well, preferring, however, to handle the currencies
of the various nations to selling tin pots, pans, mattresses
and shoddy clothing, as did the old man.

Their father was a Hebrew, who may or may not
have had a very interesting history before I met him,
but at the time of our acquaintance he looked so fat
and comfortable and money was so plainly his friend
and benefactor that he was a pretty prosaic representa-
tive of his race. I had heard about him in New York,
after making unsuccessful attempts there and in Brook-
lyn to secure a berth as caretaker on a Europe-bound
cattle-ship.

Eight months of roughing it on the Road had worked
many changes in my temperament, ways of calculating,
and general appearance. I was no longer the youth
who had jumped out of that second-story window and
made for parts unknown. Had it been necessary, so
tough and hardened had my physique become, that on
arriving in Hoboken, I could have done myself credit,
I think, in getting out of a third-story window. I was
thin and scrawny, to be sure, but such characteristics
are most deceiving to the observer unacquainted with
tramp life. They may mean disease, of course, but
more frequently good health, and in my case it was

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MY LIFE

decidedly the latter. Whatever else hoboing had done
or failed to do for me, it had steeled my muscles, tight-
ened up my nerve, and jostled my self-reliance into a
thoroughly working condition. Many a vacation in
recent years, so far as mere health is concerned, might
have been spent with profit on the Road. But eighteen
years ago it was a different matter. Die Feme as such
was at least temporarily under control; I had become
tired of simply drifting, and whether I should find a
home abroad or not, the outlook could hardly be much
darker over seas than in my own country. I had some
knowledge of foreign languages, and knew that, at a
pinch, I could retreat to England, or to one of her
colonies, if Germany should prove inhospitable. How
to get across was the main problem. The cattle-ships
were over-manned, it seemed, and the prospects of suc-
ceeding as a stowaway were pronounced bad.

I finally heard of the corpulent Hebrew and the
" Bankrupps " Club in Hoboken. A German sailor
told me about the place, describing the cellar as a refuge
for " gebusted " Europeans, who were prepared to work
their way back to their old country homes as coal-passers.
The sailor said that any one, European or not, was
welcome at the club, provided he looked able to stand
the trip. The Hebrew received two dollars from the
steamship companies for every man he succeeded in
shipping.

My first interview with this man, how he lorded it
over me and how I answered him back — these things
are as vivid to me to-day as they were years ago. " Du

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MY VOYAGE TO EUROPE

bist zu schwach " (you are too weak), he told me on
hearing of my desire for a coal trimmer's berth. " Pig
mens are necessary for dat vork," and his large Oriental
eyes ran disdainfully over my shabby appearance.

" Never you mind how schwach I am," I assured
him; " that's my look-out. See here! I'll give you two
dollars besides what the company gives you, if you'll
get me a berth."

Again the Oriental's eyes rolled, and closed. " Veil,"
the man returned at last, " you can sleep downstairs,
but I t'ink you are zu schwach."

The week spent " downstairs " is perhaps as memora-
ble a week as any in my existence. Day after day went
by, " Pig mens " by the dozen left the cellar to take
their positions, great ships whistled and drew out into
the mighty stream outward bound, my little store of
dimes and nickels grew smaller and smaller — and I was
still " downstairs," awaiting my chance (a hopeless one
it seemed) with the other incapables that the ships' doc-
tors had refused to pass. The Italian lad, with his
sweet tenor voice and sunny temperament, helped to
brighten the life in the daytime and early evening, but
the dark hours of the night, full of the groans and sighs
of the old men, trying for berths, were dismal enough.
Nearly every nationality was represented in the cellar
during the week I spent there, but Germans predomi-
nated. What tales of woe and distress these men had to
tell ! They were all " gebusted," every one of them. A
pawnbroker would probably not have given five dollars
for the possessions of the entire crew.

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MY LIFE

" Amerika " was the delinquent in each reported case
of failure — the men themselves were cock-sure that they
were in no particular to blame for their defeat and bank-
ruptcy. " I should never have come to this accursed
land," was the claim of practically all of the inmates
of the cellar, except the little Italian. He liked Nenvo
Yorko, malto una citt bellissima — but he wanted to see
his mother and Itallia once more. Then he was coming
back to Neuvo Yorko to be mayor, perhaps, some day.
The hope that is in Americans was also in him. He
believed in it, in himself and in his mother; why should
he not become a good American? Why not, indeed?

But those poor old men from Norway! Theirs was
the saddest plight. "The boogs " (bugs), one said
to me, an ancient creature with sunken eyes and temples,
" they eat down all my farm — all. They come in a
day. My mortgage money due. They take my crops —
all I had. No ! America no good for me. I go back
see my daughter. Norway better." I wonder where the
poor old soul is, if he be still on earth. Ship after
ship went out, but there was no berth for his withered
up body, and after each defeat, he fell back, sighing,
in his corner of the cellar, a picture of disappointment
and chagrin such as I never have seen elsewhere, nor
care to gaze upon again.

Our beds were nothing but newspapers, some yellow,
some half so, and others sedate enough, I make no
doubt. We slept, however, quite oblivious of newspaper
policies and editorials. Looking for our meals and
wondering when our berths on the steamers would be

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MY VOYAGE TO EUROPE

ready constituted our day's work, and left us at night,
too tired out to know or care much whether we were
lying on feathers or iron. I have since had many a
restful night in Hoboken, and to induce sleep, even
with mosquitoes as bed-fellows, nothing more has been
necessary than to recall those newspaper nights in the
Hebrew's underground refuge. I trust that he is resting
well somewhere.

" Get up, presto! We're all going, presto! " It was
five o'clock on a cool October morning, and my friend,
the little Italian, was tugging away at my jacket. " Get
up, fratello," he persisted. " Mucha good news." The
light was struggling in through the cobwebbed windows
and doorway, and the Norwegian was wakefully sigh-
ing again. I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and stared wonder-
ingly at the Italian.

" Where's your good news? " I yawned, and pulled
on my jacket.

" Mucha — mucha," he went on. " Policeman, he
dead. Eighteen firemen and passers put hatchet in his
head right front here. Blood on the sidewalk. Fire-
men and passers are pinched. Ship — she call the Elbe
— she sail nine o'clock. The old Jew, he got to ship
us. No time to look 'roun'. Mucha good news,
what?"

I was the first to tell the Hebrew of what had hap-
pened over night, emphasizing the necessity of finding
coal-passers immediately and the fact that we were the
handiest materials. What a change came over the
man's face! Sleepy wrinkles, indolent eyes, jeweled

125

MY LIFE

hands, projecting paunch were started into wondrous
animation.

"You sure?" he asked eagerly.

" Absolutely. The men are all arrested."

11 Ah, ha! " and the jeweled hands rubbed each other
appreciatively. " Very goot ! Now comes your Gele-
genhei — that is goot. I see about things quick," and he
waddled over to the North German Lloyd docks to
assure himself that the news was correct — that the
Italian had not made a mistake on account of using some
dime novels for a pillow the night before. Thirty-six
dollars were his if he could find the requisite number of
men — a good wage for his time and labor.

" Ya, ya," he chuckled, a half-hour later, when I saw
him again. " This time you go, ganz sicher. You a
very lucky boy. Tell the others to stick in the cellar;
I must not lose them."

At eight o'clock he appeared among us to select the
most serviceable looking men. Again the poor old Nor-
wegian was counted out — " zu schwach," the Hebrew
thundered in reply to the man's entreaties to be taken,
and once more he slunk away to his corner, weeping.
There were still others who failed to come up to the
Hebrew's standard of fitness, but no case was so pitiful
as that of the Norwegian.

Eighteen men, some expert firemen found elsewhere,
and the rest green coal-passers like myself, were finally
chosen, lined up in the street, counted for the twentieth
time, it seemed, by the Hebrew's mathematical sons, and
then marched in single file across the street and down

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the dock to the Elbe's gang-plank, where the ship's
doctor awaited us. The stokeroom was so short-handed
that the man was forced to accept all of us, something
that he certainly would not have done had there been
a larger collection of men to choose from. He smiled
significantly when he let me pass, and I was reminded
of what a saloon-keeper had said to me earlier in the
morning. I had gone to his place for breakfast, and he
asked me whether I was looking for a job. I said that
I was, explaining how long we all had waited for oppor-
tunities to ship.

"You goin' as a passer?" he exclaimed. "Why,
boy, they'll bury you at sea, sure. You can't stand the
work. Just wait and see," he warned, as if waiting,
seeing and sea-burial were necessary to substantiate his
words.

" Stay here with me," he went on, " and I'll give
you a job."

"Doing what?"

" Oh, cleaning up and learning the business."

I thanked him for his kindness, but insisted that I
was going to ship.

" Well, when they're tossing you overboard, don't
blame me," he requested, replenishing my soup-plate
as if it were the last " filler-in " I should ever have on
land. When we were all in line, and marching to the
ship, he waved me an adios with a beer towel from his
doorway, and reminded me not to forget what he had
said.

As in earlier days, when attending college and living

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in the lawyer's home, a lawyer's career had been ruth-
lessly thrown aside, I was now perhaps throwing away
a wonderful chance to become a saloonkeeper — a great
fat brewer, even, who could tell? Thus it is that oppor-
tunities come and go. I might now be living in ease
and luxury in a mosquitoless palace on the Hoboken
Heights. As it is, I am a poor struggler still — but for
the time being unmolested by mosquitoes, thank heaven.
Many and many times after our good ship had put to
sea, and we had all been initiated in our work, I remem-
bered my friend, the saloonkeeper, and temporarily
regretted that I had not thrown my lot with his concern.
Now, I know that it was all for the best that the coal-
passer's job was preferred. Only the other day I
learned with regret that the saloonkeeper became insane
not so very long after I had known him, his monomania
being sidewalks. They say he got so bad that he
thought the ceiling of his saloon was a sidewalk, and it
was when he tried to use the ceiling as a sidewalk for
his empty beer kegs that he was pronounced incurably
out of order.

Once assigned to our different bunks on the Elbe, one
of the head firemen told us off to our different watches.
An officer, passing at this time, remarked that the head
fireman had " a rum lot " of trimmers to handle.

"Ach Gott!" the latter returned jovially. "The
heat will sweat 'em into shape. I know the kind."

No doubt he did, but I recall some men, nevertheless,
that the heat failed to sweat into shape, or into anything
else worth while. They were born laggards and sneaks,

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throwing all the work they could shirk on others who
were honestly trying to do their best. It is trite enough
to say that such human beings are found everywhere,
but they certainly ought to be barred from the fire-
room of an ocean liner.

My " watches," four hours long, began at eight in
the morning and at four in the afternoon; the rest of
the time was my own, excepting when it was my turn
to carry water and help clean up the mess-room.

The first descent into the fire-room is unforgetable.
Although hell as a domicile had long since been given
up by me as a mere theological contrivance, useful to
keep people guessing, but otherwise an imposition on a
sane person's intelligence and not worth considering in
the general scheme of things, going down that series of
ladders into the bowels of the old Elbe, the heat seem-
ingly jumping ten degrees a ladder, gave my cocksure
disposal of hell a severe jolt. I thought of General
Sherman's oft-quoted remark about war, and wondered
whether he had ever tested his faith in the same by
later investigations in a liner's stoke-room. Indeed, I
thought of everything, it seemed, that spelled hellish
things.

At last the final ladder was reached, and we were at
the bottom — the bottom of everything was the thought
in more minds than one that afternoon. The head fire-
man of our watch immediately called my attention to
a poker, easily an inch and a half thick and twenty to
thirty feet long. " Yours! " he screamed. " Yours! "
and he threw open one of the ash doors of a furnace

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MY LIFE

pantomiming what I was to do with the poker. I dove
for it madly, just barely raised it from the floor, and
got it started into the ashes — and then dropped none
too neatly on top of it. " Hurry up, you sow-pig," the
fireman yelled, and I struggled again with the terrible
poker, finally managing to rake out the ashes. Then
came " ash heave," the Elbe having the old bucket
system for the job. Great metal pails were let down to
us from above through a ventilator. The pails filled,
they were hauled up again, dumped and then sent down
for another filling. On one occasion a pail broke loose
from the chain, and came crashing down the ventilator
under which I was having an airing. For some reason
I did not hear the pail, and the fireman had barely
time to shove me out of danger when the bucket fell
to the floor with a sickening thud. If we had ever met
— but what's the use of " if-ing " any more than " per-
haps-ing"? It was simply a clear case of deferred
" cashing-in."

The ashes out and up, we trimmers were divided into
shovelers and carriers. Sometimes I was a carrier and
had to haul baskets of coal to the firemen — " trimming "
the coal consists, so far as I ever found out, in merely
dumping the basketfuls conveniently for the firemen;
and sometimes I was a shoveler, my duties then consist-
ing of filling the baskets for the passers. Every bit of
it, passing and shoveling, was honest, hard work. Shirk-
ing was severely reprimanded, but, as I have said, there
were a few who did just as little as they could, although
they were far better fitted for the work than I was,

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for instance. Once our " boss " decided that I was
moving too slowly. He found me struggling with a
full basket, in the alleyway between the hot boilers.
" Further with the coals," he cried; " further! " accom-
panying the command with what he termed a " swat '
on my head with his sweat-rag. I was tired out, men-
tally and physically, my head was dizzy, and my legs
wobbled. For one very short second, after the fireman
had hit me, I came very near losing control of myself,
and doing something very reckless. That sweat-rag
" swat " had aroused whatever was left in me of man-
hood, honor and pride, and I looked the fireman in the
eye with murder in my own. He turned, and I was
just about to reach for a large piece of coal and let him
have it, when such vestiges of common-sense as were
left to me asserted themselves; and I remembered what
treatment was accorded mutinous acts on the high seas.
Without doubt I should have been put in irons, and
further trouble might have awaited me in Germany. I
dropped the piece of coal and proceeded on my way, a
coward, it seemed, and I felt like one. But it was better
for the time being to put up with such feelings, galling
though they were, than to be shut up and thrown into
irons. I must blame my tramp life, if blame be neces-
sary in the premises, for having often pocketed my
pride on more or less similar occasions, when an over-
whelming defeat stared me in the face had I taken the
offensive.

About the middle of each watch " refreshments "
were served in the shape of gin. A huge bottle, some-

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times a pail, was passed around, and each man, fireman
as well as trimmer, was expected to take his full share.
During the short respite there was the faintest possible
semblance of joviality among the men. Scrappy con-
versations were heard, and occasionally a laugh — a
hoarse, vulgar, coal-dust laugh might be distinguished
from the general noise. Our watch was composed of
as rough a set of men as I have ever worked with.
Every move they made was accompanied with a curse,
and the firemen, stripped to the waist and the perspira-
tion running off them, looked like horrible demons, at
times, when they tended their fires. Yet when the
" watch " was over with and the men had cleaned up,
many of them showed gentler traits of character which
redeemed much of their roughness when below.

The call to go up the ladders was the sweetest sound
I heard throughout the trip. First, the men to relieve
us would come clattering down, and soon after we were
free to go back to daylight and fresh air again. There
was generally a shout of gladness on such occasions, the
firemen being quite as happy as the inexperienced trim-
mers. My little Italian friend used to sing " Santa
Lucia " on nearly every climb bathwards and bunk-
wards. A wash-down awaited all of us at the top, and
soon after a sumptuous meal, in quantity and whole-
someness certainly as good as anything given the saloon
passengers. The head fireman insisted on our eating all
that we could. He wanted able-bodied, well-nourished
trimmers on his staff, and I, at least, often had to eat
more than I wanted, or really needed.

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MY VOYAGE TO EUROPE

One day I decided to try to escape a watch. The
night before I had hardly slept at all, my eyes were
painfully sore from cinders getting into them, and I was
generally pretty well used up. Other men had been
relieved of duty at different times, and it seemed to me
that my turn was due. I went to the doctor.

" Well? " he said in English. I dwelt mainly on my
sore eyes, telling him how the heat inflamed them.

" Let me see them," and he threw back the lids in
turn, washing out each eye as if it had been a marble-top
table.

" How about them now? " he questioned, after throw-
ing away the blackened cloth. It would have paid to
tell him that they were better if only to keep him from
going at them again.

"Oh, but my lame back!" I replied, glad to shift
the doctor's attention in that direction. The worst he
could do to my back was to put a plaster on it, I rea-
soned, and this would almost certainly relieve me of
one watch at least.

" Don't stoop so much," was all he would recom-
mend. "What else?"

" Well, Doctor," I pursued, " I'm sick, sick all over.
I need at least one watch to rest up in."

The good man became facetious.

" Why, we're all sick," he laughed. " The captain,
the first officer, the cook, and what not. We're terribly
short-handed. If you don't keep your watches the ship
simply won't go, and heaven knows when we'll see
Bremerhaven."

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MY LIFE

I smiled a very sickly smile, and retired. If the old
Elbe was so hard up for propulsion power that my
weak services were unequivocally necessary, then of
course I must do my utmost to save the lives, perhaps,
of the precious freight in the cabins — but, oh ! how I
wished that I had remained in Hoboken and become a
saloonkeeper, anything in fact but a coal-passer.

The first glimpse we had of land may have been a
lovelier sight to some of the cabin passengers than it
was to us trimmers, but it hardly seems possible. My
companions told me that the rocks and cliffs, barely
visible, on our left, were England, the home of my
ancestors, but this fact did not interest me one-half so
much as the far more important fact that they repre-
sented terra firma. I wanted to put my feet on land
again, even in Turkey if necessary. Coal-passing,
bunker life, hot fires, and clanging ash buckets had
cured me for the time being at least of all sea-going
propensities in a professional capacity. A flattering
offer to command a great liner would hardly have
tempted me just then. Indeed, tramp life, with all its
drawbacks, seemed a summer pastime compared with
bunker life.

The twelfth day out, I think it was, we " made "
Bremerhaven, where the good ship was to have a rest,
and the men who had shipped in Hoboken were to be
paid off. The long voyage was over, I had finished my
last " watch " below, and was free to mingle with the
steerage passengers on deck and view the new country
I had traveled so far to see. My clothes were the same

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MY VOYAGE TO EUROPE

that I had gone on board with in Hoboken — a fairly
respectable outfit then, but now sadly in need of clean-
ing and repair. My face and hands were dark and
grimy, although they had been given numberless wash-
ings; it was simply impossible to get all of the coal dust
out of them. Indeed, it was days before my hands
looked normal again.

The head fireman saw me on the deck, and came up
to me. His whole manner had changed. His duty was
over, the great ship was in the harbor, and he could
afford to unbend a little.

" Not dressed yet to go ashore? " he said in a friendly
manner, his eyes running hurriedly over my clothes.
" We'll dock soon, and you want to be ready."

" These are all the shore clothes or any other kind
that I've got," I replied, and for aught I could see just
then they were all that I was going to have for some
time to come.

" I'm too big, or you could have some of mine," the
fireman assured me, the obvious sincerity of his offer
making me quite forget the " swat " he had given me in
the fire-room. We shook hands, congratulated each
other on having done his part to help bring the ship
into port, and then separated, five minutes and a kindly
manner on the part of the fireman having been quite
sufficient to scatter forever, I trust, all the murderous
thoughts of revenge I had been a week and more storing
up against him. Such has been the fate of nearly all of
my revengeful intentions in life. Either they have con-
sumed themselves with their own intense warmth, or a

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MY LIFE

few words of reconciliation have cooled them down until
they have become flabby and useless.

It was a very different line of coal-passers that
marched from the Elbe to the Seemann's Amt in Bremer-
haven to be paid off, from the one that had formed in
front of the Hebrew's store in Hoboken. Our hard and
miserable task was behind us, money was " in sight,"
and the majority of the men were at home again. We
received seventeen marks and fifty pfennigs apiece for
the trip, four dollars and a fraction in American cur-
rency. We bade one another good-by over some krugs
of beer, and singly and in groups went our different
ways. I waved a final adios to the Elbe, and joined
two firemen, who spoke English and had offered to see
me off for Berlin, my next destination.

I learned in their company something that life in
sailor's quarters and homes later on has confirmed in
every particular — i.e., seafaring men, when bidding
one another good-by after a voyage together, should
each take absolutely different directions on separating,
eschewing all group gatherings and " one last drink '
sociability. But one might as well preach theosophy
to baboons, as to try to teach this doctrine to men who
" go down to the sea in ships." Indeed, it is a thankless
job to attempt to teach the latter anything until they
have squandered a part of their money, only too fre-
quently all of it, on a drunk. It was thus in Bremer-
haven in my day, and I make no doubt that it is the same
to-day wherever there are ports and paid-off seafaring
men — in Calcutta, Singapore, 'Frisco, New York, or

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MY VOYAGE TO EUROPE

where you will. And why not? Is the coal-passer's
life to be spent entirely in the bunkers? What is more
natural than that when ashore he should try to forget
some of the hard knocks, sweat and dust in the stoke-
room, in a carousal in the open? What, indeed, has all
the turmoil below been suffered for if not to allow such
indulgence on land? The moralist, the economist, the
Sabbatarian doubtless have their individual answers to
these queries. All I know about the questions and my
relation to them at the time of leaving the Elbe in
Bremerhaven is that, my ticket for Berlin secured and
two spare marks slyly hidden away in case of an emer-
gency, prudence, temperance and economy were utterly
disregarded. I sang, laughed and feasted with my
friends to the limit of my financial and physical capacity,
and I cannot recall having enjoyed a more righteous
" good " time on a dollar and a half in all my life. So,
hard though the voyage had been, I blessed the Elbe
for the pleasure she had guided me to. Poor old ship !
I was in Rome when she went down in the North Sea.
I was reading the " bulletins " in front of the English
book-store in the Piazza di Spagne. Suddenly my eyes
spied the dispatch about the Elbe. " Down ! " I mut-
tered aloud, and people standing near looked at me as
if, perhaps, I had lost a friend in the mishap. I had,
indeed. In dire time of need, perhaps at the turning
point in my life, one road leading I knew not where,
the other, as it proved and as I hoped, to a home and
decent living — on such an occasion — that creaking, tired
out ship bore me safely out of trouble to a welcome port

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MY LIFE

across the sea. If this is not friendship, if it be strange
that I looked solemn and reminiscent in front of that
bulletin board, then I know not what kind deeds and
grateful remembrance thereof mean.

The journey to Berlin was a sorry undertaking. I
started tired, my ticket read fourth-class, there were sev-
eral confusing changes, and, for most of the journey,
I was wedged in among a crowd of burly and scented
Poles. Ordinarily, on a respectable train and with a
third-class ticket, the journey from Bremen is about six
hours. On my train it took close to sixteen, if not eigh-
teen hours. A more humble home-coming could hardly
be imagined, and I wasted no mental efforts in trying to
increase the humility by imagining anything. At Celli
there was some diversion in waiting an hour or two, and
in listening to the gabble of a little Jewish tramp bound
for Niirnberg. He had just come from America, he
claimed, by way of England, having been boosted out
of that country and across the North Sea by some alleged
philanthropic agency, anxious apparently to relieve
Great Britain of anything likely to increase the income
tax. He was traveling afoot, and was full of the usual
list of turnpike ghost-stories and " hand-outs." I told
him some of my story to explain why I looked so dirty.

" They won't let you into Berlin," he declared,
"looking like that. Can't you clean up some?" I
tried once again, at a pump, to get rid of the steamer
dust and grime, but this effort left no marked improve-
ment in my appearance. Pretty soon the time for my

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MY VOYAGE TO EUROPE

train drew near, and then the little wanderer displayed
himself in his true colors.

" You're'n American," he said, " so'm I. Can't you
help me out a little — five cents '11 do? "

Everything that begs and cringes in any nationality
that I have ever known was present in that miserable
boy's manner and voice. But he was a wanderer like
myself, and I had a twenty-pfennig piece that I could
just barely spare. He saw me feel in my pocket and
hesitate. " For the sake of America," he whined, and
foolish sentimentalist that I was, I gave him the money,
although he already had more than I did. He said
that the five cents was necessary to complete his evening
fund for supper and lodging. I refer to this lad because
he is typical of so many would-be Americans in distress,
and on account of his utter lack of Road fellowship in
bothering me — poorer than he was — when a complete
townful of Germans was staring him in the face. The
international Road is shamefully disgraced by these un-
scrupulous vagabonds.

My arrival in Berlin at one o'clock in the morning,
dirty, clothes frayed and torn, and my exchequer so low
that I could not afford even a "groschen" (two and a half
cents) for a street-car ride, was sorrier, if that be possi-
ble than had been the journey from Bremen. One thing
I had carefully preserved, however, my mother's ad-
dress. Asking and feeling my way, laughed at by night
street hawks and workmen, and watched suspiciously
by policemen, I finally found the house. It was two
o'clock in the morning now.

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MY LIFE

The portier answered my ring at the street door. I
told him a tale such as he had probably never heard
before nor will ever hear again, but my success was
probably due more to my obvious foreign nationality
than to the story. He knew that my people were for-
eigners, and he knew so little else of any account, as I
learned later, that, in spite of my looks, he doubtless
reasoned that Americans are permitted all kinds of
eccentricities, and that I was what I claimed to be: a
ship's engineer on short shore-leave with his luggage
lost in transit. A lame " ghost story " at best, no matter
how well delivered, but it won in my case.

" Well, I'll go up with you and see what the madame
says," he finally declared, and up we marched, the good
man looking at me furtively under his brows every now
and then, evidently wondering whether or not he was
making an awful mistake. My mother answered our

ring.

" Who is there? " she asked in German, accustomed
to the nocturnal calls of the telegraph messengers. I
forgot my grammar, my looks, everything in fact except
that on the other side of that door was one human being
most likely to give me a night's lodging and to forgive.

" It's me!" I replied in English. The door opened,
the portier was given his fee, and I entered a home
which, next to the old brown house in our Middle West,
has done more to make home seem worth while than
any other that I have known.

140

CHAPTER IX

UNTER DEN LINDEN

"^HE Berlin of the late eighties was a very differ-
ent city from the Berlin of to-day. There is
probably no other Continental city which has
undergone so many changes in the same period of time.
When I wandered into the place nearly twenty years
ago there were no electric cars — horses were still the
exclusive motive power in the business streets; there
was no rational direction of traffic — there isn't to-day
in some parts; there were no automobiles that I can
remember having seen; there were no great department
stores such as now vie with those of New York; there
was no such street lighting as there is to-day; and there
were by no means so many Germans leaning on window
sills and on the streets. Like Moscow, the place resem-
bled a great overgrown village more than it did the
capital of a great country. The people were provincial,
the military upstarts often acted as if they thought the
city had been built and was kept up for their exclusive
entertainment, and strangers, particularly Americans,
who ventured to dress as they do at home — white
dresses in summer for ladies, for instance — were stared
at as if they were a new species of human beings. In

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MY LIFE

one particular, however, the city has not changed, and
probably never will, i. e.t in the amount of noise the
Berliners are equal to when they are turned loose in the
streets, afoot, in trains or in Drosckken. If it be true
that the word German, philologically dissected, means
a shouter in battle, then the word Berliner means two
shouters talking about a battle. The incessant ya-yaing
and nein-neining in the streets, the perspiring and nerv-
ous self-consciousness that comes to a large-boned popu-
lace suddenly advanced to Welt-Stadt significance, the
reckless driving of the cabbies, the screams of the cab-
bies' victims, these all contribute to the present provin-
ciality of the metropolis, in spite of the modern trolleys,
automobiles, half-Londonized policemen, and taxameter
cabs. Indeed, these very appurtenances of cosmopoli-
tan, the crunching trolley, for instance, and the puffing
" auto," accentuate very strikingly the undue emphasis
which the town puts in noises, and are indicative of its
lust for more. Twenty years ago the shouting and
buzzing were not so bad, but the city is now making up
for any silences that may have been observed at that
time.

Part of the street roar and clamor is due to the un-
usual amount of small traffic in the streets, to the thou-
sands and thousands of cabs, " commercial " tricycles
and pushbarrows, all of which claim the right to play
their part in the city's roar and bustle. But a much
more conspicuous cause, if not the main one, is the fact
that Berlin has grown up to Welt-Stadt prominence,
overnight, as it were, and the good Berliners have not

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UNTER DER LINDEN

yet untangled their feet sufficiently to keep an orderly
pace under the new order of things. Two-thirds of
them are still living under the old horse-car regime,
and when they come to congested corners, where the
trolley's clang and the automobile's " toff-toff " prevail,
they very willingly lend a hand in increasing the gen-
eral confusion.

At least this is the way the town impressed me a year
or two ago, as compared with the easy-going city I first
entered as a coal-passer, with honorable discharge
papers in my pocket, and very little else. But far be it
from me to dwell on this subject, for if there is any
city in the world to which I ought to be grateful, it is
Berlin. If it pleases the Berliners to shout their World
City distinction from the housetops, as if fearful that
it might otherwise escape notice, well and good; the
noise sounds funny, that is all — particularly after Lon-
don and New York.

I began my career in the town in a very " Dutch "
ready-made suit of clothes, high-heeled shoes that could
be pulled on at one tug like the " Romeo " slipper, a
ready-made fly-necktie, and a hat the style of which
may be seen at its best in this country in the neighbor-
hood of Ellis Island; it was local color hatified indeed.
While I lay asleep on the sofa in my mother's library,
making up for the loss of sleep at sea, my mother went
out and kindly made these purchases. Washed, dressed
and fed, I may have looked " Dutch," but I was clean
at least, and there was no dusky fireman about to order
me to hurry " further mit de coals."

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MY LIFE

The family physician, a gentleman who has since
come on to great things and is one of Berlin's most
famous medical men, for some reason best known to
himself examined me carefully to see how I had stood
the journey. All that he could find out of the way was
a considerably quickened heart action, which did not
give him great concern, however. At that time the
good man was just beginning to pick up English, and
at our first meeting made me listen to his rendering of
" Early to bed, early to rise," etc. A few weeks later,
when making a professional visit on an American young
lady, a new neighbor of ours, he was emboldened to
give some advice in English — to compose an original
sentence. He wanted the young lady to take more exer-
cise, and this is how he told her to get it.

" Traw a teep inspiration, take t'ree pig shteeps
across te floor, and ten expire." She pulled through her
ailment splendidly.

In those days, the late eighties and early nineties,
the American colony, as it was called, lived mainly in the
western part of the city, in the neighborhood of the
Zoological Gardens. The doctor, or professor, as he
is now called, was for years the colony's physician, and
many were the regrets when he gave up visiting us. We
were still privileged to call at his office, but hospital
work and Imperial patients made it impossible for him
to call on us, although he kindly made neighborly visits
in my mother's home as long as he remained in our
street. He is now getting old and gray, but I found
him as friendly and hospitable on my last visit to Ber-

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UNTER DER LINDEN

I'm, in spite of his fine villa, lackeys and carriages, as
when he examined me for broken bones and twisted
muscles after the coal-passing experience. I told him
that I was on my way to Russia to study the heavily-
advertised revolution. His face became grave, as of
old when studying a case. " Be careful, my son," he
cautioned me; "be very careful in Poland." The
fatherly warning and the friendly interest brought back
to my mind memories of the Berlin that I had known
and in a way loved, the town that took me in and truly
gave me another chance.

Nearly all American colonies abroad are but little
more than camps. The campers tarry a while, for one
reason or another — culture is what most of them claim to
be seeking — and then fold their tents and pass on, those
who remain behind having to get acquainted afresh
with the new set of " culturists " who are sure to arrive
in due time. In Venice there is an Anglo-Saxon camp
which lays claim to ancient privileges and rights. In
1894-95 I spent four unforgettable months in the place,
and got well acquainted with many of the campers.

" And how long have you been here? " was one of
my questions on meeting an Englishman or fellow coun-
tryman, already beginning to plume myself on my long
residence.

" Eighteen years, thank you ! " was the answer I got
on numerous occasions. My four months' sojourn
dwindled to a very slight significance when set over
against the old residents' record, but in spite of their
long stay in the city they were, after all, campers. When

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MY LIFE

the Christmas holiday time came, for instance, they all
spoke of going " home " to England. Venice was not
their home. It was simply a desirable abiding place for
the time being.

So it is wherever I have lived on the Continent.
Barring a very few exceptions, the American colonists
are transient residents that you have barely got ac-
quainted with before they are off to some new tenting
ground. Whether such " colossal " life is advantage-
ous for the rearing of children, or not, is a question which
each camping family decides for itself. In the case of
young men, students for example, it has its advantages
and disadvantages. In my own case I think it worked
well for a time. It was not compulsory; I could have
returned to America at any time. And it afforded me
an opportunity to see how clean I could keep my record
sheet in a community unacquainted with my previous
devilishness. There was no local reason whatever why
I should not hold my head just as high as anybody — a
privilege which, I believe, goes a long way in explain-
ing the pride I took in trying to deserve such a right.

It is a far cry from the stoke-room of an ocean liner
to a refined home and unexcelled educational oppor-
tunities. No one who had seen me passing coal on the
Elbe would ever have expected to meet me in the lecture
rooms of the Berlin University, a few months later, a
full-fledged student in the " philosophical faculty."
And no one was more surprised at such a metamor-
phosis than the student himself.

It came about in this way: For a fortnight or so after

146

UNTER DER LINDEN

reaching Berlin there was little that I felt equal to
beyond sitting in my mother's library, resting and read-
ing. The little " Dutch " outfit made me presentable
at least, and I was welcome to spend as much time as I
liked browsing among the books. It seemed strange
for a while, to sit there in comfort and ease, after the
long tramp trip and the voyage on the Elbe, but I soon
found myself fitting into the new arrangement without
much difficulty. The coal-passing experience had ex-
hausted my physical resources more than I had at first
imagined, and for days lying on a lounge was about as
much as I felt up to. It was during this period, I recall,
that I read Livingstone's " Travels in Africa," George
Eliot's " Daniel Deronda," some of John Stuart Mills'
" Political Economy " and chapters in German history.
I seemed to take as naturally to this selection in my read-
ing as I had formerly taken to tramp trips — testimony,
it seems to me, that two sets of forces were always at
work within me. While poring over these books the
Road, Die Feme, and my former companionships
seemed as foreign to my nature as they could possibly
be; indeed, I frequently caught myself looking about
the library, with its pleasant appointments, and won-
dering whether my wanderings were not, after all, sim-
ply a nightmare.

Friendly care and good food soon restored me to my
usual good health, and then came walks, visits in and
about the city, experiments in the language on long-
suffering cabbies and tramway conductors, and a pleas-
ant round of excursions in the environs. But nothing

147

MY LIFE

as yet had been said or decided about my status in the
new home, my mother apparently wanting me to recu-
perate first, and then suggest something myself. My
twenty-first birthday was near at hand. I was no longer
a boy with no responsibilities. My own sense of the
fitness of things told me that it was high time for me
to be up and doing, if I was going to be of any use to
myself and the family. Yet, for the life of me, I could
think of nothing more remunerative and honorable as
a calling, than a woodchopper's life in the Black Forest.
One of the coal trimmers on the Elbe, a " bankrupp "
whose acquaintance I had made in the Hoboken cellar,
had told me about this work in South Germany, and I
had made up my mind to go there in case Berlin proved
inhospitable. At best it was a makeshift job, but, for
the time being, it was the best outlook that I had — at
least so I thought. My mother, however, had no good
opinion of this plan, and recommended that I consider
the whole matter more fully.

I finally decided that another fair test of sea life
should be made, not in the bunkers or stoke-room, but
on deck, or wherever my services might be in demand.
For some strange reason I had Egypt as an objective,
perhaps on account of reading Livingstone's book.
There was nothing particular that I can remember now
to make Egypt any more attractive than Italy. But the
name seemed to fascinate me, and I told my mother
that if she would help me get to Liverpool, I believed
that my rightful calling would come to light there. A
number of days were taken up in discussing this new

148

UNTER DER LINDEN

project, but I persisted in thinking that Liverpool and
Egypt had something wonderful in store for me. The
good housing and nourishment had very probably awak-
ened my Wanderlust again, but I know that the pro-
jected trip was not meant as a mere wandering in the
dark; I honestly believed that something worth while
would come of it. Looking back over the affair to-day,
however, reminds me that probably the old desire to
disappear to unknown parts and come back successful
later was at work within me.

It was evidently decided that I should at least try my
hand in Liverpool, and sufficient money for the trip
and more was given to me. I left Berlin, thinking that
I ought to come back at least an admiral of The Fleet,
my mother feeling quite hopeful about me, yet regret-
ting that I was not then willing to sound Berlin a little
more, and see whether I could not fit in there.

As no particular harm came to me from the Liver-
pool experiment, perhaps it is not to be regretted to-day,
but it seemed to accomplish very little at the time. I
lodged in the Sailor's Home and tried to act and talk
like a master of a ship, as long as my money lasted, but
this was as far as I got toward becoming an admiral
or in the direction of Egypt. The only " berth " offered
me was in a Norwegian schooner as " cook's mate," or
something like that, whatever " that " may mean. Liv-
erpool itself, however, or rather those sections of it
near the Sailors' Home and Lime Street, was faithfully
explored and studied. One experience that I had may
or may not have been worth while, according to the

149

MY LIFE

different views of it that are permissible; but I thought,
at the time, that it was valuable.

A runaway girl from Manchester, a pretty little thing
who had lost her head over the theater, music halls and
the ballet, crossed my path. She told me her story, a
stencil-plate affair such as England is full of, and I told
her mine, also about Egypt and my determination to be
an admiral, if possible. She suggested that we combine
our stories and funds, and grow rich and famous
together. She was sure that she was fated to be an
actress, a great one, and I was equally sure that some-
thing illustrious awaited me. " Alice " — this was the
fair one's name — arranged the combination of funds
very neatly; fortunately the bulk of mine were in safe
keeping in the Sailor's Home. The whole amount, or
rather the amount that I let her have, went for the culti-
vation of her voice and " stoil " in Lime Street concert
halls; but she explained this selfishness away with a
promise to finance me when she should be successful
and I was passing the final examinations for the ad-
miral's position. It is not unlikely that I might yet be
struggling to get money for " Alice's " musical educa-
tion if her charms had continued to please, but she
fainted, or pretended to, in my arms, in public fashion
one evening near the Home, and the spell was broken
then and there. The fainting took place in an alleyway
through which people passed to the rear of the Home
and then on to another street. It came so unexpectedly
that in spite of the girl's slight form she nearly toppled
me over in clutching at me. Some newsboys saw me

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UNTER DER LINDEN

holding her up and fanning her face with my hat. A
squad of policemen, going on night duty, passed by and
snickered.

" I'd doi for that goil, I would," one of the boys
screamed, and the others made similar teasing remarks.
" Alice " gradually recovered and grabbed my neck.

" Save me! " she cried. " Save me! I'm losin' all
me high notes."

I " saved " her in double-quick fashion into a cab
and sent her home to look for the high notes. I never
saw her again, but five years later, when a friend and
I were tramping in England, I asked about her in the
concert halls in Lime Street, and finally found an old
acquaintance who remembered her.

" Oh, that girl ! " the acquaintance exclaimed.
" She's got seven days. She's dotty. Thinks she's a
primer donner. Good thing you an' her never went to
housekeeping — ain't it? "

What with my experience with the capricious " Je-
miny " of earlier days and with the screeching " Alice,"
housekeeping has not entered heavily into my life. I
must thank " Alice," however, for showing me the folly
of trying to be an admiral on a mere coal-passer's
experience. Her light-fingered ingenuity and the result-
ing depletion of my funds also assisted in curing me of
the Egyptian fever. The upshot of the trip to England
was a hasty return to Germany to try something else —
and to celebrate my coming of age. I meant that that
event should mark a distinct change in my life, and in
many ways it did.

I5i

CHAPTER X

BERLIN UNIVERSITY

IN the early nineties it was easier for foreigners to
get into the Berlin University than it is now.
To-day, I am told, certificates and diplomas from
other institutions must be shown before the student can
matriculate. In 1890, my matriculating year, all that
was necessary to become enrolled as a student in good
standing, was to have a twenty-mark piece in your pocket
to pay the matriculation fee, and perhaps fifty marks
more to pay for your first semester's lectures. Nothing
was asked about your former studies or academic train-
ing. The university was open to all mal3 foreigners
over seventeen years of age. Germans had to show a
Gymnasium certificate, but foreigners were accepted on
their face value.

I can hardly suppress a smile now when I think of
my entrance into this famous university. To be sure, I
had the necessary amount of money and had long since
passed the required age limit, but I am afraid that a
stock-taking of my other qualifications would have left
me woefully in the lurch had the other qualifications not
been taken for granted. There were two years at an
American college to my credit, it is true, and I had

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BERLIN UNIVERSITY

perhaps done more general reading than even the aver-
age German student. But what else was there to entitle
me to matriculation? Nothing, I fear, unless it was
my mother's earnest wish that this take place.

On my return from England I was determined to let
her suggest what was best for me to do, having made
such a fiasco of the English venture, a suggestion and
enterprise of my own. The university and its pro-
fessors loomed up large in my mother's eyes. If she
could only see me once started on such a career, she said,
she thought that her cup of happiness would be full,
indeed. She was set on having at least one academic
child in the family, and my presence in Berlin and
willingness to behave, renewed her hopes that this ambi-
tion was to be realized. Fortunate it was for her
ambition and my sensibilities that the matriculation
ceremonies were so simple. My German at the time
had been selected principally from the coal-passers'
vocabulary, but I was quick in overhauling it, and when
ready to matriculate, knew as much of the language
probably as does the average American student on first
entering the university. On receiving my matriculation
certificate from the rector — a very formidable document
it was, written in Latin, which I had long since forgot-
ten— shaking hands with him and receiving the faculty's
welcome into the institution, I asked that my faulty
German be pardoned.

" Certainly, Herr Studiosus, certainly," the rector
assured me. " You are here to learn; we all are. So
excuses are not necessary."

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MY LIFE

This was all the formality that was attached to the
entrance ceremony. In five minutes, thanks to the rec-
tor, I had changed from a quondam coal passer to a
would-be Doctor of Philosophy in the great Friedrich
Wilhelm Universitat, a royal institution. The import-
ance of the royal protectorate over the university and
the students never impressed me greatly, until a friend
of mine had a wordy difference with one of the officials
at the Royal Library. My friend was lame, having to
use crutches. One day, when entering the room where
borrowed books are returned, he proceeded to the desk
with his hat on, being unable to remove it until freed
of his armful of books. The officious clerk called his
attention to the excusable breach of etiquette in none
too polite language, adding: " You must remember that
I am an Imperial official." " And do you remember,"
demanded my doughty Greek friend, " that I am an
Imperial student."

I never had occasion to call attention to my " Impe-
rialism " while in the university, but it was a kind of
little joke that I was already to play if opportunity
offered.

To take a Ph. D. at Berlin in my day at least one
major study was required, and also two minors. Six
semesters was the time necessary for preparation before
one could ■promoviren, and an acceptable " Thesis " was
absolutely necessary before examination was permissi-
ble. As a rule, a man with a well-written thesis and a
fair mastery of his major subject succeeded in getting a
degree. There were no examinations until the candi-

154

BERLIN UNIVERSITY

dates for degrees were ready to promoviren, to try for
their Doctor's degree. At the end of three years, six
semesters, such candidates were called before their pro-
fessors and made to tell what they knew both in their
major and minor studies. The examination was oral
and alleged to be pretty minute, but I have been told
by a Japanese, with a Ph. D. degree from Johns Hop-
kins University and preliminary study in German insti-
tutions, that, in his case, he would have preferred to
take his chances in a bout with the Berlin examiners.

The significance of the title was by no means clear
to me on matriculating in Berlin. In an indefinite sort
of way I knew that it stood for certain learned acquire-
ments, but what these amounted to puzzled me much at
the time, and they do yet. Occasionally some visiting
clergyman would preach for our local pastor in the
American church, and I noticed that when a Ph. D. was
a part of his title it was thought extremely good form to
pay extra attention to his discourse.

I think this extra attention was partly due to the sig-
nificance which our pastor gave to such decorations.
He put much stress on learned institutions, their doc-
trines and teachings, and his discourses — many of them
at least — might have been delivered in the university,
so far as they patched up the spiritual wear and tear
of his hearers. He was much given to quoting the
professors of his university days, and, at his evening
home-lectures, he could make himself very interesting
telling us about the Germany of his youth and early
manhood. One professor whose name he was continu-

155

MY LIFE

ally mentioning was Tollock, or Toccoch, or something
similar. I believe this gentleman had been noted as a
theologian, but what I admired more than anything
else was to hear our pastor roll out the name. His pro-
nunciation of it seemed to me to incorporate the whole
German language in one mouthful. With words,
English or German, ending with a " d," the pastor had
difficulty. In his prayers, for example, " Lord God "
became " Lorn Gone," and I am afraid that some of us
called the good man " Lorn Gone." He staid with us
twenty years or more, I think, and he and his wife did
much to get the money to build the present American
Church. He very kindly took an interest in my selec-
tion of lectures at the university. For the life of me I
cannot recall now why he or I chose Political Econ-
omy for my major. It may have been because my
father had been much interested in this subject and had
possessed a fine library on economic questions. It may
also be accounted for by my cursory look into John
Stuart Mill's book previous to leaving for Liverpool.
Still, again, it may have been one of those haphazard
selections which are resorted to in cases like mine; the
subject was safe at least, and perhaps the good Doctor
thought that studying might inculcate good principles
in me about personal economy. Whatever the cause
may have been, I was enrolled in der philosophischen
Facultat, as an earnest delver into Theoretische and
praktische national-ekonomic. I took two privatim
twenty-mark lectures in my major, each semester that I
was in the university. Professors Wagner and Schmol-

156

BERLIN UNIVERSITY

ler were my instructors in these courses. With Professor
Wagner I never became well acquainted, but an inter-
view that I once had with Professor Schmoller has
always remained memorable. I had spent twenty marks
semester after semester on his lectures and it did not
seem to me that I was getting on very fast in my sub-
ject. Being a near neighbor of ours, I resolved one day
to call on him in his villa and find out whether the trou-
ble was on his side or mine. I had other uses for the
semester twenty marks, unless he absolutely needed
them. He asked me point blank what my preparation
for university work had been previous to matriculating
at Berlin, and how it had come about that Political
Economy had been selected as my major. I told him
the truth, even resorting to anecdotes about riding
freight cars, to make myself clear. He laughed.

" And what have you in mind as a topic for a the-
sis?" he asked me. I had been four semesters in the
university, and it was time for me to begin to think
seriously about a thesis if I intended to promoviren.
My thoughts were very scattered on this point, but I
finally managed to tell the professor that vagrancy and
geography seemed to have considerable in common,
and that I contemplated a thesis which would consoli-
date my learning on these subjects. Again the pro-
fessor laughed. He finally delivered himself of this
dictum: "Vagrancy and geography don't combine the
way you infer at any German university. Geography
and Political Economy, however, make excellent mates,
and are well worth studying together. Perhaps you

157

MY LIFE

might find it easier to get your degree at one of the
South German universities."

The insinuating suggestion at the last piqued me some-
what, but I continued to listen to Professor Schmoller
for another long semester.

My minors — I hardly recall now what they were.
One major and two or three minors were required, I
believe, and one of the minors had to be the History of
Philosophy. One semester in this subject was usually
considered sufficient. So I must have listened to lec-
tures on this subject, and I recall other courses in Ger-
man Literature. But I am afraid that my professors at
the time would be hard put to it, in looking over to-day
the selected courses in my dnmelde-Buch, to make out
what I was driving at. But in spite of all this con-
fusion and floundering about, I was busy, after all, on
my own private ends. I may not have got much from
the lectures, but I came in contact with such men as
Virchow, the pathologist; Kiepert, the geographer;
Curtius, the Greek historian; Pfleiderer, the theologian;
Helmholtz, the chemist, and I got glimpses of Momm-
sen. He was not reading in the university during my
stay in Berlin, but he lived not far from my mother's
home, and I used to see him in the street cars. He was
a very much shriveled-up looking individual, and when
sitting down looked very diminutive. He wore im-
mense glasses, which gave his eyes an owlish appear-
ance; I saw him to the best advantage one afternoon
when we were riding alone in a street car through the
Thiergarten. He had a corner in the front, and I had

158

BERLIN UNIVERSITY

taken one in the rear. I hardly noticed him at first, and
had opened a book to read, when suddenly the old gen-
tleman began to mumble to himself and gesture. " Ya,
ya, so ist es," I could hear him say. " So muss es sein,"
and he flourished his right hand about as if he were
speaking to a collection of Roman senators. What it
was that was " so," and why it had to be " so," I could
not find out. Perhaps he was arguing a deep polemical
point with an imaginary adversary, and perhaps he was
merely having a little tiff with the police. He was the
proud father of twelve children, more or less, and no
Berlin landlord, so the story runs, would rent him a
flat. He consequently lived in Charlottenburg, where,
I have heard, that he told the police what he thought
of them and their regulations.

The most interesting interview that I had with any
of my professors was with Virchow. At the time of
the interview I was corresponding for a New York
newspaper intermittently, and, one day, word came
from the editor that a " chat " with Virchow on the
political situation would be " available." (This word
available formerly troubled me a great deal in my en-
counters with editors, but I have at last come to terms
with it. When an editor uses it, it pays to look into a
good dictionary and see how many different applica-
tions it has. Its editorial significance is most elastic.)
Virchow kindly granted me an interview and told me
some interesting things about his fight for Liberal ideas.
But he was most entertaining when talking " science."
Our political chat finished, he asked me whether I was

159

MY LIFE

interested in Anthropology, advising me that the local
Anthropological Society was to have a meeting that
same evening, and that I would be welcome. I told
him that I was interested in Anthropology in so far as
it threw light on Criminology. The old gentleman
must have mistaken my meaning, or I did not know
myself what I was trying to say, for my reply startled
him into what seemed to me unwonted nervous activity.
During the political chat he had been very quiet and
calm, talking even about Bismarck in a rather subdued
voice. But when I ventured to connect Anthropology
and Criminology, barely mentioning Lombrosso's name,
it was as if some one had thrown a stone through the
window. Virchow jumped up from his chair, and
cried: " There you are on false ground. Let me give
you a pamphlet of mine that will put you right," and
he rushed into his adjoining study for a paper that had
something to do with cells, etc. I might understand it
to-day, but it read like Sanscrit at the time. " There,"
said the little man, handing me the brochure. " That
will give you my ideas on that subject." In other men
this proceeding might have indicated conceit. With
Virchow it was merely a friendly desire to set me right
on a matter which he had thought a million times more
about than I possibly could have. He seemed literally
to feel aggrieved that anyone should be in the dark
about a matter on which he had tried to shed light.

Later, when showing him a written copy of our
political interview, I had to look him up in his famous
den, in the Pathological Institute, I think it was. The

1 60

BERLIN UNIVERSITY

room was so full of skulls, bones and " pickled " things
that it was all one could do not to knock something over
when moving about. I had to leave the manuscript with
him for correction. He sent it to me a few days after-
ward with neatly written marginal notes in his own
handwriting. Of all the men I met at the university,
he was distinctly the most famous and affable.

His famous political antagonist, Bismarck, a man
that Virchow seemed to hate, judging by his manner
when discussing him, I saw but once. It was not long
before his dismissal from office, and he was returning
from the Emperor's palace, where he had gone to give
him birthday congratulations. I was standing in front
of the Cafe Bauer on the Unter den Linden just as
Bismarck's carriage came by. I shall always remember
his strong face and remarkable big eyes, but this was
about all that I saw. A woman recognized Bismarck
just as I did, and ran toward his carriage, crying: " Oh,
Prince Bismarck! Prince Bismarck! " There was some-
thing in her manner which made one think that she
wanted to ask some favor of the great man, and had
been waiting for his appearance. The mournful note
in her voice might have meant anything — a son in
prison, a dying soldier husband, a mere request for
bread. The driver of the horses was taking no chances,
however, and the great chancellor was whisked away
toward Wilhelm Strasse.

The diminutive and modest Virchow could recon-
struct our notions about pathology and medicine and at
the same time be a great Liberal, but he could not tol-

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MY LIFE

erate Bismarck. The monstrous chancellor could re-
unite Germany, dictate her foreign policy for years,
and hold his own, in and out of parliament, as a master
mind, but he could not associate with Virchow. Two
great Germans, both iconoclasts and builders, both
dwellers in the same city, and both much admired and
criticised — but they needed separate sides of the street
when abroad — a fact, by the way, which goes much to
help out the other fact demonstrating German Kieinlich
Kelt — smallness.

When all is said and done about my university career
I think that the good it did me was accomplished mainly
in the Royal Library and in che Thiergarten — a natural
park in the center of the city, where I could invite my
soul comfortably in the winter, say at ten degrees above
zero, and in summer at about seventy degrees of heat —
all this — a la Fahrenheit, by the way, who has no fol-
lowing in Germany, either zero-wards or otherwise.
The library advanced me ten books at a draw in any
language I felt equal to, and the Thiergarten helped
me to ponder over what I had read and did not under-
stand. Certainly no professor ever felt more learned
than I did when I tramped through the park to my
home, with the ten books slung over my shoulder. My
mother used to love to see me come into the house after
this fashion, and even my fox-terrier, Spicer, put on a
learned look peculiarly her own when she deigned to
observe my studious tendencies. More anon about this
almost human little creature, but I must say right here
that, in her early days, she did not take kindly to my.

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BERLIN UNIVERSITY

" shortening-up " habits. She believed in beer, much
food and exercise, Uferlos pow-wowing.

What it was, in the Library or Thiergarten, that
switched me, when reading, from Political Economy to
Africa, Livingstone, Burton, Speke and Stanley, it is a
little difficult to explain. In the final analysis I suppose
it was mere temperament. By my third semester I
knew ten times more about Africa than I knew about
my own country, and an unfathomable number of times
more than I ever will know about Political Economy.
Burton was the man I particularly took to, and to this
day he remains on a very high pinnacle in my estima-
tion of men.

This kind of reading naturally did not bring me any
nearer my Ph. D. But it taught me to keep quiet, dodge
Die Feme, and to take an interest in what other men
had done — to remember that all the traveling in the
world was never intended to be done by me. Of course,
I had dreams of becoming an explorer, but they were
harmless arm-chair efforts, that gave my mother no
anxiety, and were profitable in so far as I seriously
studied geography. Possibly, had a berth in an explor-
ing expedition been offered me, I should have been
tempted to take it; but no such opportunity came to
hand.

My companions in the university were nearly all
Streber, young men who were determined to promo-
viren. A more mixed collection of friends I have never
had. My most intimate " pal " was a Japanese, the
others next intimate were a Greek, a German-American,

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MY LIFE

a British-American, some bona fide Teutons, and my
dog Spicer — the latter being in the university by proxy,
so to speak. In the early semesters we did pretty much
what all students at German universities do. Here in
the United States there are minute observers of college
morals who would have said that we were all bound
devil-wards. We attended Kneipen, spent our Sundays
in the Grunewald, and would schwanzen — omit attend-
ance at lectures, when convenient. But all of my friends
except one have done well. The unfortunate exception
was probably the most strenuous streber in the com-
pany. He took his degree with all sails set for a
promised professorship at home, went home, was dis-
appointed in what he had been led to think he was to
teach, became discouraged and despondent, and finally
tossed himself in front of a train. Poor " Zink " !
He had studied History and wanted to give lectures
about it. The western college trustees, who had prom-
ised him a chair in History, insisted on his teaching
Grammar also, or some other subject that he had paid
no attention to since college days, and his sense of the
fitness of things revolted. He had specialized honestly
and fearlessly, and he desired to continue as a specialist.
The college trustees wanted a complete faculty in one
or two men, and " Zink " would not submit. If any
man deserved fairer treatment, this old university friend
did.

I believe that Spicer, my fox-terrier, is the only other
member of the class that has quit the game completely.
She stayed with my family for nine years, never

164

BERLIN UNIVERSITY

comprehending the Germans as a people — she was
English — and apparently never wanting to. Pilsner
beer was the only German product she would succumb
to. Three saucerfuls after each afternoon tramp con-
stituted her portion. As she never staggered, and never
misbehaved herself otherwise under the Pilsner influ-
ence, I think it agreed with her. In saying that she
succumbed to the three saucerfuls, I merely mean that
she knew when she had had enough.

If I could tell what " Pizey," as she was called later,
meant to my family in ways that are dear and affection-
ate, and what she stood for in the " Colony," a great
dog book would be the result. She came to us in a
basket, after a serious tossing in the North Sea — a fat,
pudgy little thing, full of John Bullism and herself.
My mother and younger sister brought her to Berlin,
and mother presented her to me, in the same language
as in former days when she had given me " Major " —
" Josiah, I've brought you a dog!" I rejoiced at
twenty-two over such a gift as much as I did in my early
teens. Little did I reckon then what it means to train
a pup in a Berlin flat. With " Pizey " I would gladly
go through the whole business again, but it is a task I
feel that I must save my countrymen against. Even in
Oskaloosa there are trying months ahead of him who
rears a pup three flights up. (Fire escapes don't help
a bit.)

" Pizey's " main interests were her own short tail
and her long-tailed pups. When mother had nothing
better to offer her guests by way of entertainment,

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MY LIFE

" Pizey " was requisitioned, called into the parlor and
made to chase her stub of a tail. If her guests were
looking for other amusement they were disappointed,
but " Pizey " wasn't, and I think that mother enjoyed
the fracas. She once told the family physician that
under no circumstances, no matter whether " Pizey '
committed lese majeste, would she destroy " Pizey,"
because she reminded her of Josiah, "when he was
away from home."

" Pizey's " distinction as a member of the " Colony "
lay almost entirely in her disregard of the Malthusian
dream. She increased the Anglo-German entente by at
least forty-seven little " Pizeys." Some of her progeny
found their way into American homes and are trying to
do right — perhaps a half-dozen. The remaining forty-
one are auf der Wander schaft.

" Pizey's " death was mysterious. I had long since
left Berlin, and heard only infrequently about her.
Finally the entire family moved away, and the dog was
left in the old home, but under a new regime; she abso-
lutely refused to emigrate. They say that she was
stricken with asthma, and had to be put out of the way.
I only hope that she was put out of the way in a square
deal. The German scientists are very much given to
dissecting dogs like " Pizey " while they are yet alive.
If any German scientist perpetrated such an outrage on
Spicer, I trust that his science will fall to pieces — cer-
tainly those parts of it based on " Pizey's " evidence.

1 66

CHAPTER XI

WANDERINGS IN GERMANY

YEARS and years ago, when Luther was giving
us, or rather demanding of us, two strong legs
and an obstinate " No " when it was our duty to
say " No," there were thousands of young men in Ger-
many who had wheelbarrows, and, I trust, the two
strong legs ; they were called Handwerksburschen, trav-
eling apprentices, a name that remains intact with their
counterpart of our day. The apprentices in honorably
quitting their masters — I fear, sometimes before honor
had become a definite part of their moral baggage —
would put their bits of tools into the wheelbarrows, the
masters would give them a gliickauf, and away the young
men would go over Europe, studying their trades in dif-
ferent countries, and getting acquainted with life in
towns, villages and fields. In the main, they were earnest
inquirers of their kind, seeking comparative wisdom
and a friendly acquaintance with the Chaussee.

Luther has long since gone, and with him the Hand-
werksbursch of his time. The Chaussee has given away
to the fourth-class railway car, and the wheelbarrow and
kit of tools to a stingy knapsack. The Handwerks-

167

MY LIFE

bursch still has two legs, as a rule, but he hates to use
them.

Such good nature and fellowship as must have pre-
vailed among Luther's traveling apprentices could also
be found among the students of the time. They took to
the Chaussee, saw men, cities and things, and their vaca-
tion over, returned to their lectures and books. Like the
Handwerksbursch, however, they have found their ac-
counting with the present, and to-day are quite as much
at home in the fourth-class car as were their predecessors
on the Chaussee.

In course of time it came my turn to make one of the
students' tours of Germany. The Semester was over, a
friendly companion was at hand, and, for a Rundreise
excursion, we had sufficient money in our pockets. It
may or may not have been a sop to Die Feme that I
undertook this jaunt, but I think now that it was merely
a well-timed outing in order that Die Feme should not
be consciously considered. Here again, as so often
before and since, credit must be given to my mother.
She seemed to know to the hour almost, the time when
it was necessary for me to jump out of harness and take
to the open again.

My companion on this first exploration of Germany
was a gentleman considerably older than myself. He
was a stalwart Norwegian, perhaps forty years of age,
with a burly blond beard, a great " bundle of hair,"
as the tramps say, and a pugnacious belief in the prohi-
bition of the liquor traffic. Physically, Nietzsche's guter
grosser blondes Mensch was found in him to a nicety.

168

WANDERINGS IN GERMANY

Some months before my arrival in Berlin, he appeared
at my mother's door one evening and said in a western
nasal drawl: "Glad to meet you. Believed in your
sister-in-law's principles, and thought I'd come around
and call."

My mother saw in him at first merely the typical Pro-
hibitionist with a long rehearsal of the reasons why, if
need be, one should go dry in a waterless, but alcoholic
neighborhood. A partial rehearsal there was, and then
the tall, blond man from " Minnesoty " got to talking
most interestingly about the university, philosophy, reli-
gion, Norway — and Ibsen. He spoke also of his native
language, of literature in general, and of men in " Min-
nesoty " who were trying to make a new Norwegian
literature.

Ibsen was much discussed at the time, and " Nora "
was the talk of the town. It had become almost an
affair of state whether Nora did right in leaving her
home, and decidedly a matter of etiquette whether a
husband should, or should not, offer a disappearing wife
an umbrella on a rainy night. (The " Doll's House,"
as I saw it, presumed a storm outside.) Ibsen was liv-
ing in Munich in those days.

Our friend, the Norwegian, wrote to Ibsen, and asked
him whether he would receive two Americans anxious
to pay their respects to him. It had been decided that
the Norwegian and I should make Rundreise together,
and Munich was included in our itinerary. Ibsen re-
plied to the Norwegian's letter in very neat handwriting,
that he was usually at home in the Maximilian strasse

169

MY LIFE

at eleven o'clock, and that callers usually looked in
on him at that hour. There was no conventional eti-
quette about the note; we were not even told that we
should be welcome. The small missive might have been
a dentist's " time card " so far as it expressed any senti-
ment. But scrupulously to the point it certainly was.
Later Ibsen told us that so many people wrote to him
that he had been compelled to boil his correspondence
down as much as possible.

The journey to Munich in company with the Nor-
wegian was very similar to all students' outings, and
need not be described in detail here. The talk with
Ibsen, our unheard of abstemiousness in restaurants, and
the pains that we were at to see everything on a five
pfennig tipping basis, were the only special features of
the trip.

On leaving Berlin we resolved to go as far as our
allowance would permit, into the Tyrol if possible, and
we thought that our mileage could be prodigiously in-
creased if we drank water with our meals, and " looked
the other way ' when more than five pfennigs was
wanted as Trinkgeld. The Norwegian never once
swerved in living up to this programme, but I fell from
grace at times. The looks and " faces " that we got
from guides, palace lackeys and waiters were specimens
that, could we have drawn them, would make a very
interesting gallery to look over to-day. But, alas !
neither one of us could sketch, all that we have now
is the remembrance. During the six weeks or more
that we traveled we saw disappointment, distrust, hatred

170

Madam Willard. Josiah Flynt's Grandmother

THE NEW YORK
PUBLIC LIBRARY

•lSTOR, I "■
ITILDKN FOUNDATION

R L \

WANDERINGS IN GERMANY

and pugnaciousness in all the different shades and color-
ings which the German countenance is equal to. The
Norwegian said that he enjoyed such sights, but there
were moments when I begged off, and tipped as I saw
fit. It made no difference to the Norwegian, however,
whether the service rendered was a two-hour chaperoning
through a great castle, or a mere response to a question.
Five pfennigs remained his limit in the tipping line to
the end, and I doubt whether his entire bill on this score
came to over three marks. His non-alcoholic regime
nearly got us into serious trouble in Niirnberg. As had
been our custom in other towns, we had selected a modest
restaurant at the noon hour, and called for the regular
meal. Although we did not order beer, it was served to
us, but left untouched. When we came to pay our
reckoning we called the waiter's attention to the beer
item, saying that we would not pay it as the beer had
not been asked for. Such a hubbub and pow-wowing
as then began I have never seen over two glasses of
beer. The proprietor came, the other waiters also, and
even some of the guests labored with us in the matter.

" But it is the custom, Meine Herren," the landlord
kept saying, to all of which the Norwegian returned a
determined " No." It might or might not be the cus-
tom, and whether it was or not, did not make a particle
of difference; he was not going to pay for something
that he had neither wanted nor asked for.

The upshot of the arguing was that we picked up our
grips and started to leave. The burly proprietor
snatched my bag away from me in the hallway. The

171

MY LIFE

Norwegian sprang at him with an oath — the first and
last I ever heard him use.

" Damn you ! " he hissed through his teeth. " I'll
break every bone in your body," and I think he would
have fulfilled the contract had the proprietor given him
a chance. The latter dropped my bag, and fled back
into the restaurant for reinforcements. But, by the time
he was ready for war again, we were in the street, and
the landlord contented himself with calling us swindlers
and pigs. I make no doubt that later there was a pro-
tracted discussion in the restaurant about the matter,
and that for many a day afterward the Starumgaste,
who had witnessed the affair, made beery conjectures
as to our nationality and education. Whatever their
final decision may have been, the Norwegian had carried
his point. Alone, I doubt whether my independence
would have been so assertive, but I was glad at the time
to have witnessed a successful revolt against the tyranni-
cal German Getrankezwang.

What Ibsen, whom we saw in his home a few days
later, would have said to this episode, is hard to con-
jecture. Very possibly he might have told us that we
were in the wrong in going to such a place, that we
should have sought out a vegetarian eating-place — the
teetotaler's refuge, when the Bierzwang is to be avoided.
He very frankly told us, however, what he thought of
Prohibition as a cure-all for the liquor traffic problem.
The Norwegian had asked his opinion in the matter
and he got it. This is about what Ibsen said:

" You can't make people good by law. Only that

172

WANDERINGS IN GERMANY

which a man does of his own free will and because he
knows that it is the right thing to do, counts in this
world. Legislating about morals is at best a sorry
makeshift. Men will have to learn to legislate for them-
selves without any state interference, before human con-
duct is on a right basis."

This deliverance on the part of Ibsen came in its
turn with other topics on which he expressed himself
during our interview with him. We had called at his
home at the suggested hour — eleven — and had been
immediately shown into the parlor, I think it was.
Pretty soon Ibsen strolled in. I should have recognized
him without trouble anywhere. The long, defiant hair
pushed back from his forehead, the silky side whiskers,
the inevitable spectacles, the tightly closed lips, the long
coat — these things had all been brought out prominently
in his photographs, and were unmistakable. At the time
he was the most famous literary man I had ever met,
and he was easily the most talked about dramatist in
Europe. I was much impressed by this fact, and for the
moment probably looked at him as if it was the last
chance to see a great public character that I was to have.
The Norwegian took the event more calmly, walking up
to Ibsen with his great hand outstretched as if to an
older brother. The two men looked each other well in
the eyes — their eyes were strikingly similar in color and
shape — passed greetings in Norwegian, and then I was
introduced.

" And what is it that you want? " Ibsen asked bluntly
enough, motioning to the sofa, he himself taking a

173

MY LIFE

chair. From his manner and curtness of speech he
might have been taken for a doctor during calling hours.
He was friendly after a fashion, but the fashion was as
if he had long since finished with making intimate
acquaintances, and henceforth meant to hold the
world at a distance. He looked " business " to the last
degree.

As the conversation progressed he thawed a little, and
was not quite so reserved. But throughout our two
visits with him — there was a second call on the next day
— he at least answered questions as if he were on the
witness stand, and had been cautioned by his counsel
not to overstate things.

When questioning us as well as when volunteering an
opinion which was not in direct reply to a query, he was
not so painfully cautious.

The Norwegian had prepared a list of questions
threateningly long, to put to the old gentleman, but he
religiously went through it from beginning to end. He
quizzed him about everything and everybody, it seemed,
from Prohibition, the Kaiser, Bismarck, Scandinavia,
Russia and general European politics, to family matters,
his manner of writing, his forthcoming play, and about
numberless obscure passages in his earlier dramas.
Ibsen took the blows as they fell, dodging, as I have
said, when he felt like it, but receiving them in the main
quite stolidly. Many of the questions were killed almost
before they were delivered, by a frown or a gesture.
Speaking about the alleged obscure passages in his books,
he said: " They may be there, but I did not mean them

174

WANDERINGS IN GERMANY

to be obscure. For a time I used to answer letters from
persons who wanted me to explain this or that sentence,
but I had to give up the job — it got so enervating. I
make my words as plain as I know how. Most of
my readers comprehend me, I trust."

Ibsen used Norwegian when fencing with my com-
panion, but with me he very kindly resorted to German,
asking me in quite a fatherly way about my family, my
travels and studies and my opinion of Germany. Occa-
sionally he would smile, and then we saw the man at his
best. Crabbed and curt he might be at times, but behind
that genial smile there was without doubt a very kind
nature, and I was sure of it then and have been ever
since. In the years that are to come much will be writ-
ten about Ibsen, the writer, the pessimist, the sociological
surgeon, and what not, but nothing that has been or is
still to be written about him will ever succeed in reveal-
ing to me the man, as that friendly chat in his home in
Munich. An experience, by the way, which may possi-
bly prove that my friend, Mr. Arthur Symons, was cor-
rect in an argument we had some years ago in London,
about personal interviews or " sittings " with famous
people, particularly writers. At the time I advanced
the opinion that writers, if they were worth while at all,
proved their worth best in what they wrote, and not in
what they said, that their books and not their physical
presence were what ought to interest. Symons held that
he had never read an author who would not have been
more interesting to him (Symons) had he been able to
meet and talk with him. More about Symons later on.

175

MY LIFE

His books and personal friendship are both valuable
to me, but for very different reasons. I seldom think of
Symons, the man, when I read his essays and verses,
and I only infrequently think of his books, or of him as
a literary man at all, when we are together.

176

CHAPTER XII

A VISIT TO LONDON

IN the autumn of 1892 my university days were
interrupted by a visit to London. Political econ-
omy, as taught and written in German, was becom-
ing more and more of a puzzle to me, in spite of the
fact that I had made valuable progress in picking up
and using German colloquial expressions. I could
berate a cabby, for instance, very forcefully, but some-
how I could not accustom my ear to the academic lan-
guage of Professors Schmoller and Wagner. I finally
persuaded my people that if I was to continue to explore
political economy I ought to be allowed to come to terms
with it in my own vernacular, at least until I knew some-
thing about it separate from German, which, at that
time, was quite as much a study to me as political econ-
omy itself. My arguments in this matter eventually pre-
vailed, and I was sent off to London to read up on the
subject in the British Museum. That this reading was a
good thing in its way is doubtless true, and the six
months spent in London at that time I have always
counted among the Streber months of my career. Per-
haps I devoted more time than was right to geography
and the books of travelers and explorers, but I pegged

177

MY LIFE

away at my major too, after a fashion, at times cover-
ing my desk with books on the subject. If many volumes
stacked up in front of a reader make a savant in the
British Museum, then I deserved a place in the front
rank.

But with all my good intentions, reading and note-
taking, the main good that London did for me, was
accomplished outside of the somber pile in Bloomsbury.
The Museum was principally a place in which to retreat
when the life in the streets seemed likely to unduly
excite my Wanderlust. There I could also read about
many of the things that interested me in London itself.

Colonization was the special subject I was supposed
to be looking into, but Dr. Richard Garnett, the official
at the Museum who gave me my reader's ticket, could
never get over the notion that I meant " composition,"
when telling him the subject I was to take up. Three
times I insisted that it was colonization, but whether the
good man was deaf, or determined that I should tackle
composition, I never found out. My friend, Arthur
Symons, introduced me to him and distinctly heard me
say colonization, but this did not help matters. The
good doctor insisted on showing me about the reading
room, pointing out the general reference books which he
thought would facilitate my acquaintance with composi-
tion. We frequently greeted each other in the corridors
afterwards, but the doctor kindly refrained from quiz-
zing me concerning my reading, and probably had quite
forgotten what it was all about anyhow — a matter of
conjecture in my own mind on occasions.

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A VISIT TO LONDON

My most intimate friend during this first visit to
London was Symons, and I have to thank him for put-
ting me on the track of many interesting people and
experiences. I went to him with an introduction from
Berlin, where he visited me later on. In 1892 he was
living in Fentin Court in The Temple, Mr. George
Moore being a close neighbor in Pump Court, I think.
Both men took hold of my imagination very much, being
the first English writers that I learned to know. With
Moore I had only slight conversations, but I remember
now that he evinced considerable interest in my " tramp
material." Indeed, ten years after our first meeting he
reminded me of an adventure which I, at one time, had
related to him.

Symons, on the other hand, I saw very frequently,
and I might as well accuse him right away of being
my literary god-father, if I may be said to deserve one.
Whether he realized it at the time or not, it was the
writer's atmosphere which he let me into, that made me
ambitious to scribble on my own account.

One day he told me that he had received fifteen
pounds for an article for The Fortnightly.

" Fifteen pounds! " I mumbled to myself on the way
back to my lodgings. " Why, that sum would keep me
here in London over a month." Later, in Berlin, I
experimented for the first time with the effects of an
article by me in a magazine. Symons' wonderful fifteen
pounds were to blame. I sent the paper, a short account
of the American tramp, to The Contemporary. It was
accepted. In a few days I received page proofs of the

179

MY LIFE

article, and in the next number it was published. No
youthful writer ever had his horizon more ambitiously
widened than mine was when that article was printed
and paid for. I assured the editor instanter that my
tramp lore was inexhaustible, and begged him to con-
sider other submissive efforts on my part. He intimated
in his reply that submission was a fine quality, but that
The Contemporary did not confine its pages to trampol-
ogy, and that his readers had had enough of that subject
for the time being.

The little back room in the Crown Tavern, near
Leicester Square, where a number of the young writers
in London congregated at night, in my time, has given
way to much more pretentious quarters. Symons and I
had got into the habit of taking nightly walks about
town, leading nowhere in particular at the start, but
interrupted usually, for an hour at least, about half-past
eleven at " The Crown." The place itself never meant
much to me as a rendezvous because I have never been
able to get enjoyment out of a back-parlor pushed up
against a bar. Separate, each institution has its ameni-
ties but Englishmen seem fond of a combination of the
sort mentioned.

Two of the young men who forgathered at " The
Crown" in 1892 have passed on for keeps — Lionel
Johnson, the author of " The Art of Thomas Hardy,"
and the personal statement to me that he knew every inch
of Wales; and Ernest Dowson, a man who lived in a
queer, rambling old storehouse on the docks — a posses-

180

A VISIT TO LONDON

sion of his own, and who knew much about London that
he should have been allowed to tell.

The gatherings in the back parlor were compara-
tively innocent little intentions upon life and literature.
I got good out of them in a number of ways, and might
have benefited by them more had my intentions been
more distinctly literary. What Swinburne, Pater,
Wilde, Verlaine and others were doing and saying was
not half so interesting to me as what some haphazard
pick-up might say to me and Symons, during our stroll
after the Crown meeting was over. On one occasion,
however, an Irish journalist, who was present, succeeded
in getting me patriotically indignant. He had spent
the afternoon in Westminster Abbey, happening, among
other things, upon Longfellow's bust.

" I can't see," he said, at the end of his account of
his afternoon, unmistakably referring to the Longfellow
bust, " why the Americans can't bury their dead at
home." It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him why
the Irish couldn't keep their alive at home, when some
one said: " Soda, please," and the difficulty was both
watered and bridged over.

I suppose that " The Crown " meetings were mutual
admiration parties of a kind, but of an innocent kind.
I recall a callow youth (who had squandered his patri-
mony in Paris), with a slender volume of reminiscent
verse, button-holing me and saying: " Really, you

know (a member of the company) is a genius.

His command over vocables is something stupendous."
Blank has since made a name for himself, but I remem-

181

MY LIFE

ber looking at him at the time, innocently wondering
whether he was a genius, and, if so, what vocables
were.

But in spite of the ready assistance offered to all
hands to think well of themselves, the gatherings usually
netted one something worth while in the end, either in
criticism or incident. They call to mind now a series of
gatherings held a number of years later in New York
among a collection of American writers. And this think-
ing of the two combinations reminds me of what George
Augustus Sala once said to me in Rome. I had gone to
him, according to agreement, to ask him what he had to
say to a young man, anxious to do well in journalism,
about writing in general. He was sitting at breakfast
when I dropped in at his hotel, very much surrounded
by macaroni and the local newspapers.

" And what are your pleasures? " Sala began without
warning, as if I had gone to him for medical advice.

I was so upset by this beginning of things that, for
the life of me, I could not think for a second or two
what my pleasures were. I finally managed to say that
I enjoyed whist.

" Stop it," said Sala, his Portuguese eyes fairly boring
through me. " Stop it. Whist means cards, and cards
mean gambling. Stop it."

After a pause, " What are the other pleasures? " If
whist meant gambling, I reasoned that tobacco must
premise opium. However, I admitted that I liked
tobacco.

" Not strange — not strange," said Sala. " One who

182

A VISIT TO LONDON

writes needs a smoke. What else? Are you a woman-
hater?"

" No, sir, I'm not," I replied most emphatically.
Sala looked at me queerly, but did not pursue the sub-
ject. I had been introduced to him by a man who,
wrongly or rightly, had the reputation of saying cross
things about women.

" Do you drink? " Sala continued in a moment.

" Yes, when I feel like it."

" Stop it, stop it. Drinking means boozing, boozing
means busting, and busting means hell — hell, young
man, remember that."

There was a pause, during which Sala looked out of
the window as if he had taken my pulse and was decid-
ing how much faster it could beat before I must die.
Pretty soon he turned my way, and, after some general
advice about coming to an early decision as to whether
I meant to be a purely descriptive writer or not, deliv-
ered himself to this statement: " If you settle in London
as a journalist, you'll be a drudge. If you try New
York, you'll be a boozer — unless," and again the Por-
tuguese eyes shot at me, " you keep out of the rut."

In reviewing my past experiences I have often
thought of this talk with Sala when comparing the
two different sets of writers I learned to know in Lon-
don and New York. Offhand I should say that honors
were even between them as regards the virtues, any
advantage in this particular falling, if there was any,
to the Englishmen on account of the early closing hours
in England.

183

MY LIFE

It was after the celebrated closing hours that Symons
and I often had some of our most entertaining strolls.
Symons was inveterately on the scent for " impressions
and sensations," while I found happiness merely in rov-
ing. I suppose that I received impressions and sensa-
tions of their kind just as well as Symons did, but some-
how when I began to describe them they did not seem to
have enough literary dignity to belong in the same class
with those that Symons could tell about and later de-
scribe in print.

One night, we separated, each to wander as long as he
was interested, and in the morning to compare reports.
It so happened that neither of us on this particular
occasion saw enough that we had not enjoyed together
on other jaunts, to make the undertaking very amusing.
But we both agreed that such explorations could be made
uncommonly entertaining by a literary artist, if he would
honestly tell what he had stumbled upon.

At another time we undertook a more audacious ex-
ploit— a 'bus ride to the city limits, or into the country
as far as the schedule allowed, and then a tramp into the
Beyond, as long as we could hold out. We took the first
'bus we saw bound well into the country. It started
from Liverpool Street Station; Symons thought that it
was headed east, but neither of us was sure, the road
twisted and turned so. Nightfall found us pushing on
bravely afoot, Symons glorying in the beautiful moon-
light and " sensation " of being " at sea " on land, while
I got pleasure out of Symons' romantic appreciation of
a trip which reminded me very mundanely of other noc-

184

A VISIT TO LONDON

turnal tramps at home. Midnight stopped us at an inn.
One of Symons' shoes was giving him trouble, and the
romance of the adventure was growing a little dim. ■ We
were dusty, tired and, I suppose, suspicious-looking.
The innkeeper hesitated before he would let us in, and
we had to explain how simple and innocent we were.
In the morning, having found our bearings to the extent
that we learned we were headed toward the North Sea
— we refused to listen to anything more minute than
this — we went blithely on our way once more, happy in
the consciousness that, for the moment we were care-
free, and bound for " any old place " that took our
fancy. But, alas ! Symons' shoe got to annoying him
again, and his spirits began to droop. By ten o'clock
they were plainly at half-mast. His foot had become
very painful, forcing him to sit down by the side of the
road. The jolly adventurer of the night before and
early morning had suddenly changed into an irascible
literary man " on the road." He said nothing about
art, sentences or vocables. He said nothing about any-
thing but the pain in his foot was giving him. Blind
travels into the countryside took on a different aspect.
It was The Temple for Symons, and just as soon as a
train could take him there. That fine indefiniteness of
the evening in the moonlight — that joyous keeping in
step with Die Feme — the temptress into the Beyond —
that dreamy, happy, careless chatting about the great
city left behind — these things had vanished; our stroll
to the North Sea or the North Pole, or wherever it was
that we dreamed we might get to, was at an end. I have

185

MY LIFE

seldom known innocent bucolic intentions — we thought
ours were bucolic — dissipate into thin air so unconcern-
edly. But as Symons said about many of our trips
together, " the best part of them comes when you look
back over them in front of a good fire," and so he will
probably smile and look pleasantly reminiscent when he
comes across this reminder of our aimless jaunt into
Essex.

I think he will also smile on reading my version of the
Berlin-Havre expedition. He had spent a month with
me in my home in Berlin, where, as usual, he dug all
over the city for impressions and sensations — " impres-
huns and sensashuns " was the way they were finally
called in my household. When it came time for him to
return to London, he decided to accompany my sister
and me as far as Havre on our sail from Hamburg to
New York. He had never been on an ocean liner, and
thought that the new experience would recompense him
for the " sensashuns " he failed to gather in Berlin.
Besides, as we figured it out, he could get to London
a little cheaper this way. We were all pretty poor at
the time, and economy counted for a great deal in
" sensation " researches. I was bound for America to
see if I could not interest some publisher in printing arti-
cles and stories about tramps.

Down the Elbe from Hamburg, in fact all of the first
day we were at sea, Symons thought he had seldom had
a more enjoyable time. The sea was quiet, the weather
was balmy, and there was a great deal to eat. The next
morning the sea had kicked up somewhat. I found

186

A VISIT TO LONDON

Symons at breakfast time on deck, holding fast to a rail-
ing running around the smoking room. His face was
wan and colorless, and he plainly showed that he had
had his fill of " sensashuns " for the time being.

"Strange motion, isn't it?" he murmured, gripping
the railing afresh. " Never fancied anything like this.
I shall be glad to see Havre."

We made that port the following day. Symons was
to ship from Havre to Southampton, after having a look
at Havre. I learned that our boat was going to be
delayed for twenty-four hours on account of repairs —
she seemed to be repairing all the way to New York —
and that all three of us could go ashore for a stroll.
Symons' exchequer had, by this time, got perilously low —
he had the price of his ticket to London and, perhaps,
two francs over. All of us found some forgotten Ger-
man coins of small denominations in our pockets, and
proceeded to an exchange office. No transaction at the
Bank of England ever seemed more important than did
this one with the French money dealer. Symons was
to be the beneficiary, and we higgled and haggled over
the values of our groschen and sechser as if millions were
at stake. In the end we managed to increase his hold-
ings by two francs — that was all, and it was absolutely
all that we could afford. Symons was so glad to be
in the right mood for terra firma sensations again that
the two francs looked like two hundred to him. At any
rate he did not seem to care how large or small the sum
was — he thanked the gods prodigiously that he was
strong enough merely to walk.

187

MY LIFE

We smuggled him on board for supper, and finally
left him, as we thought, until we should again be in
England, as our boat was to sail early the next morn-
ing, the repairs having been accelerated, so we were
told. Symons was to spend the night and next day
ashore, waiting for the Southampton boat. The next
morning found our ship still tied up. We were free to
go ashore again, and have another " last " meal in a
restaurant. As we strolled up the main street, whom
should we meet striding proudly down the thoroughfare
but Symons, his brown gossamer sailing merrily after
him.

" Fancy this! " he exclaimed on seeing us. " How
jolly ! But do you think your boat ever will get started
again."

Then he told us of the wonderful impressionistic
night he had spent.

" After bidding you good-by," he explained, " I
strolled back to Frascati's. The moon was up, and I
felt like strolling. When Frascati's closed I walked
along the beach for a while — it was a perfect night for
' sensations.'

" At last I got sleepy. There was a bathing machine
near-by, and I thought it would be a jolly adventure to
spend the rest of the night in it. Besides, I wanted to
economize.

" I don't know how long I had been dozing, but
toward morning I was awakened by footfalls near-by.
I peaked out. It was a guard — at least he looked like
one. I crept out of the bathing machine and dodged

188

A VISIT TO LONDON

around it conveniently until the man had passed. Then
I went down on the beach, and later up to the convent
or monastery on the hill. The sun was just creeping
up over the horizon and there was a wonderful early
morning hush over everything. I sat down and wrote
some verses. Really, the impressionistic appeal was so
overwhelming I could not help it. I've never had such
a jolly night."

We breakfasted together, took one more short stroll
and then separated again. Later, after seventeen days
at sea, we learned that Symons had made London with-
out further accident.

189

CHAPTER XIII

THE BLOOMSBURY GUARDS

J4NOTHER circle of friends during my British
l-\ Museum days, which I found entertaining, was
-*• -*- the " Bloomsbury Guards," as they call them-
selves. This company of men, or " cla-ass," is appar-
ently organized to stay on earth permanently in Blooms-
bury. Some of the members die off now and then, but
that does not matter. The generous museum flings wide
its doors and out come new recruits.

The late George Gissing had considerable to report
about the gentlemen in question in his book, " New
Grub Street." I have purposely never read his account
of them, because I have preferred to keep them in mind
as I knew them myself.

Imagine a pretty threadbare, stoop-shouldered, but
generally clean individual, anywhere between forty and
sixty. Think of him as sitting at a desk in the great
reading room, books piled up in front of him, pen and
paper at hand, and a very longing, thirsty look tightly
fitted to his face like a plaster, or, still better, like an
' Es ist erreicht " mustache regulator to help one look
like Kaiser Wilhelm. Whisper in his ear: "Let's be
off to ' The Plough.' " Watch the set countenance
relax.

190

THE BLOOMSBURY GUARDS

If you will do these things you will get acquainted
with one of the Bloomsbury Guards.

I made their acquaintance at the tavern opposite the
museum. Political economy absolutely refused to inter-
est me at times, and every now and then I would drop
in at " The Plough," or " The Tavern." The exclusive
saloon bar was the recreative room of the Guards in
both cases. It took me some time to find out why the
saloon bar was exclusive, but eventually a young barris-
ter took me aside and explained.

" Don't be na-asty," he cautioned. " It's merely a
matter of cla-ass, you know. Really, you must under-
stand."

I feigned enlightenment instanter, and have always
had a " cla-ass " feeling in London, from that day to
this. I make no doubt that the cabby who frequents
the public bar has a " cla-ass " feeling just as important.

The Guards that I knew best were " Mengy," " Q,"
and the " Swordsman," as I insisted on calling him on
account of his special knowledge in pig-sticking. (He
told me that he had spent two solid weeks on this sub-
ject in order to write an authoritative review for The
Times.) These three men, "Mengy" in the middle
as " Little Billie," would have taken the prize in a
" Trilby " interpretation of side-street trios.

" Mengy " was a doctor of philosophy in general,
and lecturer on mummies in particular. Germany gave
him his start, and London his pause. Academically, he
intended to be wise in Egyptology; humanely, simply
one of the guards.

191

MY LIFE

" Q " — good old " Q " — had a gentleman's instincts
unsupported financially. He dreamed about music,
wrote articles, reviews, and poems about it, hummed it
and buzzed it, but " Q ' was no musician. Like
" Mengy," he had quite resigned himself inwardly to the
post of a "Guard."

The " Swordsman " was a great, canny Scot. But
he had cannied and caddied in the wrong way, pecuni-
arily. Fifty odd years of " sax-pence " had slipped by
him, and he had nary a one to show. But what a mine
of useless facts he had got together over in the Reading
Room ! What a peripatetic gossiper about trifles he had
become!

When these three men got together, and a liquidating
friend was along, the " Tavern " or " Plough," as the
case might be, became the scene of as doughty passages
at arms at the bar as Bloomsbury has ever known. As
guards of their beverages they were matchless, while, as
" Pub " hunters, it is to be questioned whether Blooms-
bury, until the Guards came to earth, ever knew how
many public houses she had. Perhaps " Q " was the
most inveterate explorer. When " Q " got a pound or
two for a review, he slicked up in his finest manner and
went forth alone to seek and find. Somehow the
" Plough " and the " Tavern " did not appeal to him
when he was in funds. But he would give you his shirt
if you happened upon him in some new "Pub " which
he had located, and was trying to impress with his spirit.
Then was " Q " indeed in his glory. His high hat never
had such a luster as on such occasions.

192

THE BLOOMSBURY GUARDS

" Why, my dear fellow," he would say, " how fortu-
nate to meet you here ! What is it to be? "

Perhaps you wanted 'bus fare to Hampstead.

" Most assuredly. Have something to warm you
up for the ride."

The other Guards did not like " Q's " running off
when he felt flush — " Mengy," in particular; but
" Mengy " ought to be very grateful to " Q." When
" Mengy " got permission to lecture on mummies at
the museum and sent out learned circulars about his
accomplishments as an Egyptologist, who was it,
" Mengy," that made up your audience at your first
lecture? None other than poor, old, wayward " Q." If
he hadn't exercised compassion, you would have had
no hearers at all.

He paid, too, " Mengy."

In a way, " Mengy " was a whining man. One day,
there had been too much tavern and too little museum,
and " Mengy " was under the weather. I shall never
forget the picture he made, as he lounged back in his
chair after the last drink. His two soiled long coats
enveloped his slender form like blankets around a lamp-
post, and there was a forlorn, half-academic, half-
nauseated look in his pale face that can often be seen
at sea. His disgruntledness made him melancholy.
Standing up during a pause in the conversation, he
gathered the skirts of his coats about him, readjusted
his shabby hat, and sobbed, as if his heart had been torn
out of him, "Nobody likes 'Mengy' — Nobody!"
Then, with tears tracing the grimaces in his face, he

193

MY LIFE

made for the museum to clean up his desk, and go home
to his corpulent wife. She was the bread-winner in
" Mengy's " outfit.

There is a story to the effect that " Q " at one time
contemplated marriage and some one to look out for
him. They say that he spruced up, and finally located
a young lady of means. She was not unfriendly to his
advances, and it looked like a match. But " Q " could
not keep away from the comfortable quarters in the
museum and the conferences at the " Tavern." The
fair maid found this out, and went away to Edinburgh
to think things over. One day, " Q " was in sore need
of ten shillings. He could think of no one who would
be so glad to let him have it as the fair one. He squan-
dered sixpence on a telegram describing his distress.
"If women but knew!' I have heard women sigh.
Well, " Q's " girl knew. She wrote back by post:
*l Dear Q. — A shilling you will probably need for the
evening; please find same enclosed. Yours, Janet."
" Q " tells this story on himself to explain his continued
singleness of purpose.

The Guards could not be referred to here without
reference to " Bosky," although I never knew him as
well as I did " Q " and " Mengy." " Bosky " proba-
bly had the greatest reputation of all as a learned man
and writer. His writings on ancient men and things
appear in our magazines at times. He once got me very
much interested in what he knew about the art of bur-
glary in Pharaoh's time, and I have often wondered why
he did not write the article he had in mind. But, with

194

THE BLOOMSBURY GUARDS

all his knowledge of dead nations and languages,
" Bosky " enjoyed his " Tavern " sittings quite as much
as did " Q " and " Mengy." The last time I saw him
I asked him to write me something in Chaldaic. He
handed me some hieroglyphics on an envelope. " Mean-
ing? " I said. " Bosky " smiled benevolently, and said:
" I want a long drink from the Far West."

He then told me how a sixpence had disturbed his
sleep the night before. He had got home late, he said,
after a " Tavern " sitting, but he was sure on going to
bed that he had managed to save the sixpence for his
morning meal.

" My wife's right artful," he explained, " so I tucked
the coin under the rug. I had a dream that I'd forgot-
ten where I had hidden it, and from three o'clock on I
couldn't sleep. I knew where it was afterwards all
right, but I was afraid my wife might dream that she
knew, too. Married life has its troubles, I can tell you."

195

CHAPTER XIV

SOME LONDON ACQUAINTANCES

A S the years have gone by I have tried, whenever I
f-\ have been in London, to look up the Guards
-*- -** that I knew during my first visit, as well as to
make acquaintance with the new members. On one of
my later visits a young English journalist accompanied
me to the " Tavern." I told him what interesting times
I had had there, and pointed out to him some of the
men I knew.

" They're hacks, you know," he whispered. " Penny-
a-liners. Gissing did them in ' New Grub Street.'
The young man liked neither his old companions nor
the place, but he did not hesitate to borrow ten bob
that he can hand back, if he wishes to, at his earliest
convenience.

Call the Guards hacks, penny-a-liners or what you
will; as a friend of mine once said about them, they
know how to spell the word gentleman, anyhow, and
that is more than many do who poke fun at them. They
helped to make my first visit to London incomparably
amusing at times, and for this I cannot help feeling
grateful.

196

SOME LONDON ACQUAINTANCES

I have spoken of Arthur Symons' interest in my first
efforts to describe tramp life. I think it was he and the
magazine editors who abetted me in my scribblings,
rather than the university and its doctrines of " Inquiral
research," who are to blame for all tramp trips made
by me in Europe. Of course, the inevitable Wanderlust
Was probably behind them to some extent, but all of
them were undertaken with articles, and probably a
book, as the ultimate object in view.

This can hardly be said of the earlier wanderings at
home, and yet when eventually writing about them, they
have interested me more than the tramps abroad. My
vagabond days in foreign parts have received pretty
much their just due in other books of mine and my
wish here is more to explain what effect they had upon
me as a student, and in leading on to other work here
at home, than to tell what befell me on the highways.
There are a few episodes and anecdotes, however, that
were overlooked when making my reports from the
field which may not be out of place now.

The most entertaining experience I had in Great
Britain during the three weeks or so that I tramped
there in 1893, concerns a well meaning professor in
Edinburgh. My companion in this venture is now also
a professor at one of our universities; at the time he
was a fellow-student of mine in Berlin.

One of our " stops " in the itinerary planned by me
was Edinburgh. We were to land at Leith from New
Castle, anyhow, so why not see Edinburgh, whether
we were real tramps or not?

197

MY LIFE

A local professor, a friend of my family, a guest in
my Berlin home at one time, was a man who believed
greatly in religious things, and I guess tried to act
according to his beliefs. He was noted also for his
interest in the students. My friend and I thought it
might be interesting to see how far the old gentleman's
benevolence stretched when it came to giving charity to
an American student in distress. A boyish curiosity, no
doubt, but I have found in later life that such curiosity
is worth while in a number of ways — when it comes to
quizzing " public-spirited men," for instance, as to how
far they will go into their pockets to finance investiga-
tions and prosecutions in municipal affairs.

With my friend the question was, " What story shall
I tell?" I could not undertake the adventure because
the professor would have recognized me. We rum-
maged over my basket of " ghost stories," and finally
determined that the best thing was the truth with a slight
change in names.

So while I waited in a coffee house near a railway
station, my friend went up to the fashionable house in
Queen Street with a tale of woe about being stranded
in Scotland, and needing the price of a railway ticket
to Glasgow that he might again get in touch with
friends. Not much of a story, but quite enough for
my companion — a man who had never before in his life
been on tramp, and whose whole bearing was as near
that of a non-sinning person as can be imagined.

He could not even use a strong expletive with a sin-
cere ring. His face and general innocent air pieced

198

SOME LONDON ACQUAINTANCES

out this linguistic purity. He was just the man I thought
to test the professor's charity. I had waited in the
coffee house over half an hour when my tall friend
loomed up in the distance. Pretty soon he held up five
fingers, and I could see that he was chuckling. " Well,
fivepence, anyhow," I thought. " He might not have
done any better at home — the way he's dressed." In a
minute he was upon me gasping " Five bob — five bob."

I asked him for details, and he told me how he had
been met at the door by a " buttons," who ushered him
into the professor's study, where the " ghost story " was
told and listened to. " Finally," concluded my friend,
" the old gentleman reached down into his jeans and
handed me the five shillings, saying, ' Well, my good
man, I sincerely trust that this money will not find its
way into the next public house.' "

I laughed prodigiously. " The idea," I exclaimed,
" of a medical man picking you out as a person likely
to go near a public house."

The next day I did not laugh so much. My people
in Berlin had written the good professor that my friend
and I were on a trip in Scotland and might call on him.
He divined that I was getting my mail at the general
post office and wrote me this note :

" Dear Friend — Your friend called here yesterday
and I did not realize who he was. Had I known I
would not have been so hard on him. Come and
see us."

How tramps in general leave Edinburgh on a hurry-

199

MY LIFE

up call I cannot say, but after that note had been read
two student tramps " hiked " out of that city double-
quick. I took the Linlithgow road and my friend
another — both, however, leading to the general post
office in Glasgow, in front of which we agreed to meet
thirty-six hours later. The five shillings were most punc-
tiliously returned from this point, which also we left
soon. The way that Edinburgh professor connected
things was too Scotch for us.

200

CHAPTER XV

TWO TRAMPING EXPERIENCES

TWO experiences in Germany stand out very dis-
tinctly in my recollections of my tramp life
there. The first occurred in Berlin, where,
although I was officially still a student in the university,
I had taken a vacation and secluded myself in the Arbei-
ter Colonie, on the outskirts of the city near Tegel,
Humboldt's old home. There are two workingmen's
colonies in Berlin, one in the city proper, the other at
Tegel. I chose residence in the Tegel resort because
the superintendent of the city colony was afraid that
some of the colonists there might have recognized me
during my various visits to the place, and would know
me when I applied for admission as an out-of-work.

My purpose in becoming a colonist was to learn from
personal observation what good the Arbeiter Colonien
were accomplishing for bona fide out-of-works, and also
as corrective institutions for vagrants. All told, there
are not over fifty of these places in Germany. Their
aim is to furnish temporary shelter to the worthy unem-
ployed men who apply for admission and are willing
to remain a month under the strict regime. The col-
onists work at such industries as the different colonies

201

MY LIFE

take up, and receive about eighteen cents a day for their
labor. Each colony keeps in close touch with the labor
market, and tries to secure outside positions for the
inmates as far as possible. In winter, of course, they
are much more heavily patronized than in summer, but
they are open the year round. I think they do good
in so far as they winnow the willing from the unwill-
ing, the genuine worker from the tramp. They also
help an honest man over temporary difficulties, which,
without the assistance of the colonies, might make him
a vagabond. But I hardly think they are necessary in
the United States, except possibly as places where the
professionally unemployed could be made to support
themselves.

My work in the Tegel colony was a strange one indeed
for such a place — sewing together straw coverings for
champagne bottles. For about eight hours out of the
twenty-four I had to tread the machine, and divide the
straw for the needle. I hope somebody got the benefit of
the champagne we colonists were merely permitted to
dream about.

The daily routine was about as follows : All hands up,
and beds made at 5 : 30 in the morning, breakfast at six,
prayers at half-past six, and work at seven. After two
hours there was the inevitable second breakfast — one of
the silliest time-consumers in German industrial life. At
twelve there was dinner, at six supper, at eight prayers
again, and by nine all lights had to be out.

One day, with two companions, I was sent on a
unique errand — unique for me at least, in spite of all my

202

TWO TRAMPING EXPERIENCES

former varied activities and employments. We were
ordered to wheel a hogshead of swill into Berlin — or
perhaps it was grease. Whatever it was, it had to be
delivered in the Chaussee-Strasse, and we were the
chosen cart horses. The big barrel was put on a four-
wheeled hand wagon, such as one sees so often in Berlin
drawn by dogs — sometimes women — and away we
started for town, my German companions teasing me
(an American, so, of course, a millionaire!) about hav-
ing to push a swill cart in Germany. I retaliated by
doing just as little pushing as possible. I suppose it
would have amused my friends in the city to have sur-
prised me at this task, but fortunately our journey did
not take us into their part of town. I have never had
quite the same feeling of humility as that which possessed
me during this experience. Indeed it preyed on my mind
so that I soon arranged to have word sent to the colony
that work awaited me outside, and that I should be
released. I was given an honorable discharge as cham-
pagne protector and defender of that which makes soap.

The other occurrence deals with the German police.
It is worth telling, if only to show how painfully stupid
some of Germany's policemen can be.

Before starting out on the trip which brought me in
contact with the police, I received from the late William
Walter Phelps, our Minister to Germany at the time,
a second passport, not wanting to take the other one
away from the university. I expected to return to my
lectures the next semester, and to take away my passport
would later have involved re-matriculation, or other for-

203

MY LIFE

mallties worth while avoiding. Mr. Phelps very kindly
entered into my plan, gave me another passport, and told
me to let him know if I got into trouble at any time. A
former tramp trip had taken me pretty well over North
Germany, so I determined to explore the southern prov-
inces on the second journey. I was out for six weeks,
getting as far south as Strassburg. In Marburg, the old
university town, where I learned that tramps could earn
fifty pfennigs an hour, when the professors of physiology
wanted to have human specimens for their illustrations,
I had my tiff with the omnipotent police. With several
other roadsters I went about nightfall to a Herberge,
or lodging house, where supper and bed can be found at
very reasonable prices. Soon after supper, while we
were all sitting together chatting in the general dining
and waiting room,, a Schutzmann came in. His appear-
ance did not in the least disconcert me, because I knew
that my passport was in order, and had been through the
pass-inspection ordeal on a number of previous occasions.
In fact, I was a little forward in getting my pass into his
hands, feeling proud of its menacing size. " That'll
fetch him," I said to myself. " I wonder what will be
made out of it this time." The pompous official took the
sheet of paper, " star-gazed " at it fully three minutes
by the clock, and then in a surprisingly mild voice said to
me: " Sie sind ein Oesterreicher, nicht wahr? '" (You
are an Austrian, I take it.) I declared boldly enough
that I was an American, as my pass proved. Some more
" star-gazing " on the part of the policeman — then, as if
he would explode unless he gave vent to his vulgar offi-

204

TWO TRAMPING EXPERIENCES

ciousness, and throwing the passport in my face, he bel-
lowed : " American ! American ! Well, you go double-
quick to your consul in Frankfort, and get a German
pass. That big thing won't go," and away he stalked
as if he were the whole German army bundled into one
uniform. When he had left, the other Kunden gathered
about me and told me not to mind the " old fool." But
all that night I could not get over the feeling that the
man had spat upon my flag. I suppose, however, that
the poor ignoramus was simply ruffled because he had
shown to the Herberge that he did not know the differ-
ence between an Austrian and an American pass, and did
not mean any real insult.

205

CHAPTER XVI

SWITZERLAND AND ITALY

PERHAPS the pleasantest break in my university
studies came in the summer of 1894, when I went
to Switzerland, and, later in the year, to Italy.
My writings had begun to bring me in a small income
by this time, and I had learned how to make a dollar
do valiant service when it came to paying traveling
expenses.

My companion in Switzerland was a fellow-student
at the university. I understand he is now spending his
days and nights trying to write a new history of Rome.
We did the usual things on our trip together, some
things that were unusual, and we saw, on comparatively
little money, the greater part of Switzerland. We also
climbed a mountain; and thereby hangs a tale.

Both of us had been diligently reading Mark Twain's
" A Tramp Abroad " — particularly the chapters on
Switzerland. Eventually we got into the Rhone Valley,
and at Visp, or rather at St. Nicholas, midway between
Visp and Zermatt, we stumbled upon our ideal of a
mountain guide, or, rather, on the ideal that the " Tramp
Abroad " book had conjured up for us. We had seen
other guides before, dozens of them, but there was some-

206

SWITZERLAND AND ITALY

thing in the " altogether " about the St. Nicholas dis-
covery that captured us completely. We drew the guide
into conversation. Yes, he knew of a mountain at Zer-
matt that we could climb.

" Roped together? " said the present historian of
Rome. Somehow, unless we could be attached to a rope
and dangle over precipices, the ascent presented no great
charms. Yes, we could even be roped together, could
march in single file, spend hours in the snow, and have a
wonderful aussicht.

"And the price?" A sudden return of everyday
sense prompted me to ask. By this time our funds were
getting pretty low, and neither one of us was sure when
his next remittance would arrive. My friend's, by the
way, never did arrive when we most needed it.

The guide told us the prices for the Matterhorn and
the other " horns " in and about Zermatt.

" Three hundred francs to go up the Matterhorn ! "
the historian gasped. " Why, we haven't over a hun-
dred in the outfit."

" Ah, but the Breithorn ! " the guide went on, read-
justing his coil of rope and ax, as if he knew that it was
these very things that were tempting us and leading us
into bankruptcy. Never before or since have ropes and
axes possessed such fascinating qualities as they did that
day. The guide told us that the Breithorn was ours for
thirty francs — " Sehr billig, sehr biU'tg," he added. The
historian and I took stock of our resources. We finally
concluded that, if the hotel bill at Zermatt didn't exhaust
our means, we could just barely hire the guide, climb

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the mountain, pay railroad fare back to Brieg, and have
a few francs left over for incidentals until fresh funds
arrived. We knew a hotel man in Brieg who would
trust us — at least we thought he would — and the main
thing just then was going up the Breithorn. At a pinch
we knew that we could go " on tramp," or rather I
did. The historian just guessed that he could.

We stopped by the wayside to rest and think. Fool-
ishly, I pulled the " Tramp Abroad " book out of my
pocket by way of reference. I wanted to make sure
that our guide was the real thing, a la "' A Tramp
Abroad." Then I glanced at his rope and ax. That
decided the matter for me.

" Up the Breithorn we go," I cried, and the guide
was formally engaged.

In ascending this mountain from Zermatt the average
traveler, I believe, stops over night at the Theodule
Pass, continuing the journey early in the morning. Our
guide, for some foolish reason, decided that we were not
average travelers, that it would be a mere bagatelle for
us to sleep in Zermatt until early morning, and then do
the whole thing in one gasp. My clothes — a light sum-
mer outfit from head to feet — were about as suitable for
such an adventure as for the North Pole. The historian
was a little more warmly clad, but not much. However,
perhaps we should never pass that way again, as Heine
sighs in his " Harzreise," and then — what regrets we
might suffer! The time came when, for a moment, we
regretted that we had ever passed that way at all — but
I anticipate.

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At three o'clock in the morning we got away, the
guide carrying ropes, ax and lunch. At five or there-
abouts we reached the pass. Thus far everything was
delightful — landscape, atmosphere, temperament and in-
tentions. The view that morning from the Theodule
Pass, over the glacier below, was the most wonderful I
have ever enjoyed. The clouds were tossing about over
the glacier like stormy waves at sea, and the morning
sun threw over the scene a most beautiful medley of
colors. At our right was the Matterhorn, but that repre-
sented three hundred francs, and inspired covetousness.
Pretty soon we were off again, and when we struck the
snow my delight was climaxed. We were roped to-
gether ! Never before or since in my life have I felt the
sense of personal responsibility in such an exalted degree.
I thought of the historian, and what I should do if he
tumbled into a crevice. I even pictured myself hauling
the stalwart guide out of a hole. These thrilling notions
of possible valor did not last long, however. In an hour
my light summer shoes were wet through, my face had
begun to burn, my hands had got cold, and the top of
the world looked all awry. " Get your money's worth,"
the historian encouraged me, and I plodded on to the
top. There we stood, and were supposed to enjoy life.
My feet ached, and I said " d ." An English-
man, brother of a well-known novelist, whom I took to
be a clergyman, said, " Tut, tut! " I repeated my ex-
pression, and he and his party crossed over to the Little
Breithorn, to be alone. I said a number of other things
before the day was over, but we managed to get back to

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MY LIFE

Zermatt without interference. As we paid the guide
off before going into the village, I asked him whether
he would not like to have us write a recommendation for
him in his book. He smiled. " Oh, I can go up that
hill backwards," he said, " but I am much obliged."
This is the way he left us : bankrupt practically, wet,
tired, and with the humiliating inference that had we
been real sportsmen we could have climbed the " Breit-
horn " heels foremost. I have never read " A Tramp
Abroad " since that experience.

Of our impoverished condition on reaching Breig
there is little to say except that it was whole-hearted and
genuine. We could hardly have had over two francs
between us. The hotel man insisted that we were honest,
however, and would pay him when we could. So for ten
days we settled down upon him to wonder why we had
ever attempted the " Breithorn." There was a stone
wall, or abutment, near the town, about sixty feet high.
Climbing it was like going up a New England stone
fence to the same height — there was not a particle of
difference. If one lost his footing, there was nothing
to do but fall to the bottom and think things over. A
fall from near the top, which nearly happened to me,
could only have stopped all things, because there was
nothing but bowlders to light on.

For two hours, every day of our stay in Brieg, we
fools risked our limbs and necks in finding new ways
to climb the wall. Perhaps the Matterhorn presents
more difficult problems in climbing to solve than those of
our wall, but I doubt it. At any rate, I should want to

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be paid, and not pay, three hundred francs before I
would attempt either wall or mountain to-day.

The journey into Italy was made alone. One bright
afternoon in October, I left Poschiavo, in the Italian
Engadine, where I had spent several weeks in calm
retreat, writing, studying Italian, and climbing moun-
tains, by eyesight, and made off for Venice. I had, per-
haps, sixty dollars in my pocket, a sum quite sufficient,
in those days, to have emboldened me to tackle Africa,
had it seemed the next thing to do. Italy was nearest
to hand just then, and I wanted to experiment with my
Italian on the Venetians. Learning German had given
me a healthy appetite for other languages, and I had
dreams of becoming a polyglot in course of time. I also
had a notion that I could learn to write better in a warm
climate. Berlin seemed to warp my vocabulary when I
felt moved to write, and I persuaded myself that words
would come more readily in a sunny clime.

A genuine seizure of Wanderlust was probably the
predominant motive in the southern venture, but I was
determined that it should be attended with good resolu-
tions. Indeed, at this time, I was so far master of Die
Feme that, although temptations to wander were numer-
ous enough, I was able to beat them off unless the wan-
dering promised something useful in return, either in
study or money-making.

Besides the intention to scribble and learn the lan-
guage, I furthermore contemplated a course of study
with Lombroso at Turin. My collateral reading at
the University of Berlin had got me deeply interested in

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MY LIFE

criminology, and Lombroso's writings, of course, had
been included. From the very beginning I disagreed
with his main thesis, and I do yet, as far as professional
crime is concerned. However, I thought it would be
valuable to come in contact with such a man, and I
expected to learn much from his experimental apparatus.
This plan fell through in the end. I found there was
quite enough criminology for my purposes in watching
the Italian people in the open, and I invented some
apparatus of my own for experimentation, which, under
the circumstances, probably revealed as much to me as
would have that of Lombroso. Nevertheless, I regret
now that I did not make the professor's acquaintance,
for, say what one will, of the men that I know about
he has done the most in recent times to awaken at least
scientific interest in crime as a social disorder.

My first ride down the Grand Canal in Venice, from
the railway station to the Riva, was my initial introduc-
tion to the Venetian wonderland. As a boy, I had read
my " Arabian Nights " and had had, I suppose, dreams
of Oriental things, but on no occasion that I can recall
had anything Eastern ever taken hold of me sufficiently
to inveigle me into a trip outside of my own country.
That was wonderful enough for me then, and it becomes
more wonderful to me every day that I grow older.

But that first ride in Venice ! As the gondola bore me
down the canal to the Riva where my lodgings had been
secured in advance, it seemed to me as if I were gliding
into a new world, a world, indeed, that hardly belonged

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to our world at all. The mere strangeness of things did
not impress me so much as their soft and gentle outlines.
I thought then of the city, as I do still, more as a lovely,
breathing creature, truly as a bride of the Adriatic, than
as a dwelling place of man. I walked from my lodgings
to the Piazza. As I turned into the Piazzetta, and the
glory of that wonderful square flashed upon me in the
glow of the bright afternoon sun, I came suddenly to a
halt. Such moments mean different things to different
men. I remember now what passed through my mind,
as if it were yesterday:

" If to come to this entrancing spot, young man, is
your payment for pulling out of the slough that you
once let yourself into, then your reward is indeed sweet."

For four most enjoyable months I lingered near that
fascinating Piazza reluctant to leave it. Lord Curzon
thinks that the Rhigistan in Samarcand, considering all
things, is the most beautiful square in the world. Per-
haps, had I seen the Rhigistan first, and at the time I saw
the Piazza, I might have been similarly impressed.
As it happened, when, in 1897, I first beheld the
Rhigistan I thought inevitably of the Piazza, and then
and there renewed my allegiance to her superior charm
over me.

Of my life in and about this square there is much that
I would like to tell if I could tell it to my satisfaction,
for I believe that Venice is a mistress to whom all admir-
ers, without distinction of color, race or previous incar-
nation, should offer some artistic tribute either in prose
or verse.

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MY LIFE

My most intimate friend, while in Venice, was
Horatio Brown, a gentleman who knows the city proba-
bly better than any other foreigner, and much more
intimately than many of the Venetians themselves. His
book, " Life on the Lagoons," is the best book about the
town that I know, and I have rummaged through a num-
ber. Mr. Howell's " Venetian Life," like everything
he writes, is very artistic and instructive, but I was never
able to find the Venice that he knows.

I must thank Arthur Symons for persuading Brown
to be kind to me, and I fancy that he told him the truth
— that I was a young Wanderlust victim. The result
was that, although I had to live pretty scrimpingly,
Brown's home on the Zattere became a magnificent
retreat, where, at least once a week, I could brush up
my manners a little, and enjoy an Anglo-Saxon atmos-
phere and undisguised comfort.

I think it was Monday evenings that Brown generally
received his friends. There were many interesting per-
sons to meet on these occasions, literary and otherwise,
but a good illustration of the vagaries of fancy and
memory is the fact that an Austrian admiral stands out
strongest in my recollections of the Monday evenings
that I recall. I suppose it was because he had been
through a great many adventures out of my line, and was
not quite my height. Any one smaller than I am who
has projected his personality into more alluring wander-
ings than I have becomes immediately to me a person to
look up to. Tall men and their achievements, fiendish
or angelic, are so out of my range of vision that I have

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SWITZERLAND AND ITALY

never tried to wonder much about them. Napoleon I
could have listened to by the month without a murmur;
Bismarck would have made me look dreamily at the
ceiling at times.

The admiral told me how Garibaldi once gave him a
scare, when the Italians were freeing themselves of
Austrian rule. It seems that Garibaldi kept the enemy
guessing at sea quite as much as on shore, and the
admiral received word, one day, that Garibaldi was
coming up the coast toward Venice with a formidable
force. As a matter of fact, he was doing nothing of the
kind, being busy in very different quarters. ' But how
was I to know? " the admiral said to me. " He was
jumping about from place to place like a frog, and I had
no reason to believe that the rumor might not be true.
I decided to take no chances, and commandeered two
Austrian-Lloyd steamers and sunk them in the Mala-
mocco Strait. I felt able to guard the other end of the
Lido. But Garibaldi fooled me, as he did a great many
others, and the two steamers were sunk for nothing."

During a part of my stay in and about Venice, I lived
alone in an empty house at San Nicoletto on the Lido.
Within a stone's throw was the military prison, dreaming
about which, in the empty house, after a luxurious gratu-
itous dinner, sometimes made night life rather gloomy.
I got my non-gratuitous meals at an osteria near-by. I
wonder whether the asthmatic little steamer that used
to run from the Riva to San Nicoletto is still afloat?
It was owned and captained by a conte, who also col-
lected the fares. I patronized his craft for a while, and

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MY LIFE

then in partnership with a corporale, stationed at the San
Nicoletto marine signal station, invested in a canoe.

The adventures that we had with this canoe were
many and varied. On one occasion, for instance, the
canoe and I were suspected of being spies, and came
very near being bombarded. I had spent the afternoon
in Venice, leaving the canoe near the Giardino Pubblico.
It was darker than usual when I was ready to return to
the Lido, and I carried no light; but I set out for home
undaunted. I had been paddling along serenely enough
for fifteen minutes or so, when, on nearing the powder
magazine island, or whatever it is between Venice and
San Nicoletto that is guarded by a sentry, I was partly
awakened from my dreaming by a strenuous " Chi va
la? " on my left. I say partly awakened advisedly, be-
cause I paid no attention to the challenge, and paddled
on. It seemed impossible that anybody could want to
learn who I was out there on the water. Again the
words rang out, clear and sharp, and again I failed to
heed them. The third time the challenge was accom-
panied by an ominous click of a gun. I came out of my
dream like a shot. Why I should be challenged was
absolutely unintelligible to me, but that suggestive click
jogged my work-a-day senses back into action.

" Amico! Am'ico! " I yelled.

" Well, draw up here to the landing and let me look
at you."

I put about and paddled over to the island, where
the sentry detained me nearly half an hour, making me
explain how harmless and innocent I was. I must needs

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SWITZERLAND AND ITALY

tell him who my landlord was on the Lido, which room
I occupied in the empty house, why in the name of
Maria I lived on the Lido at all, and by what maladetto
right I dared cruise in those waters without lights. He
finally let me pass on, with the warning that my craft
stood a good chance of being sent to the bottom if she
passed that way again at night without the proper
illumination.

One day this canoe foundered near the Giardino Pub-
blico, and the accident brought to light a typical Italian
trait in the corporate. I thought that it was an exhibition
of simple stubbornness at the time, but Brown assured me
later that I was mistaken. I was trying to manage things
when the canoe put her nose into the mud bank, and the
corporate was in the garden, I think, looking on. He
was slicked up in his best uniform and looked very fine,
but, as a sailor and part owner of the canoe, I thought
he should come to her aid in such a case of signal dis-
tress. At first he also thought that he ought to bestir
himself in the matter, and carefully looked about to see
if anybody was watching. Then he picked his way more
like a woman with fine lace skirts on than like a man,
let alone a sailor, to a dry spot within perhaps thirty
feet of the canoe. There he spent himself utterly in
telling me how to do what he could do a hundred times
better from the shore. All the canoe needed was a good,
big shove, which he could have given her without any
great inconvenience. I urged him in spotless Italian to
get a real genuine move on and send me seaward.

" Ma non — ma non," he kept on whining, pointing

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MY LIFE

to his highly polished shoes and the mud — with which
there was no need for him to come in contact. At this
juncture Brown and his gondolier hove in sight, and I
gave them the shipwreck signal. While they were com-
ing to my rescue, the corporate, again, like a mincing
woman, got back into the garden. The gondolier threw
me a rope, and then towed me out of my predicament,
the corporate watching the maneuvers, catlike, from his
vantage ground above. I waved him adieu, and would
not speak to him all of the next day. Brown explained
his conduct with the one word — critica. If there is any-
thing that Italians dislike, he told me, it is to be surprised
by their neighbors in predicaments that make them
appear ludicrous. He said that the corporate would
have let the canoe rot in her mud berth before he would
have subjected himself to the scrutiny of the onlookers
in an attempt to save her. The reason he retired to the
garden so quickly when Brown appeared was because
he saw critica coming his way.

I am afraid that a similar fright possessed him several
weeks later, when the canoe was blown through the Nico-
letto Strait and out into the billowy Adriatic, whence she
never returned. I was not present when the accident
occurred, but " they " say that the corporate was, and
that all that was necessary to save the canoe was to swim
a short distance from shore and tow her back. But the
" public " was doubtless looking on, and the corporate
was afraid of the critical comments and suggestions.

I had the most fun with the canoe, while she lasted,
in the small, narrow canals in Venice proper. Day after

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SWITZERLAND AND ITALY

day, I cruised with her in different parts of the city,
exploring new routes and sections, lunching where the
hour overtook me, and in the evening paddled back to
port on the Lido, feeling very nautical and picturesque.
The principal fun came when I had to turn corners in
the small canals. The gondoliers have regular calls,
" To the right," and " To the left," and by rights I
should have used them, too. But, somehow, all I could
think of when surprised at a turn by an oncoming craft
was to cry " Wa-hoo ! " at the top of my voice, and then
hug the side of some buildings till the danger had passed.
The way the gondoliers scolded me was enough to have
frightened a prizefighter, but I learned to expect scold-
ings and not to mind them. On the Riva, where I was
wont to forgather with many of them, they finally got
to calling me " Wa-hoo."

Of one of the Riva gondoliers I made quite an inti-
mate, and when I moved back to Venice from the Lido
we were almost daily together, either on the water or in
his sandalo, or swapping yarns over a glass of wine and
Polenta in some osteria.

On one occasion he came to me and said: " Signor,
will you not accompany me on a journey to the fine lace
and glass houses in Venice? "

I said: "Gladly."

He continued: " You will see many fine things in our
lace houses and our glass houses."

I said: " Let us see these wonderful things."

So we proceeded up the Grand Canal; afterwards we
went down the Grand Canal. Since Lord Byron's time

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MY LIFE

I believe there is a slight difference of opinion as to which
is up or down in this canal. We got into Sambo's
sandalo, and Sambo took me to one of the great lace
houses, where I had to expose all my ignorance of lace,
and yet try to appear to be a specialist in this commodity;
then, to a place where what I understand is called Vene-
tian glass was sold; then to other places. During none
of our calls did I make a purchase, much to the disgust
of the attending clerks, but fully within the agreement
with Sambo that I should not buy that which I did not
want or did not have money enough to buy. I noticed
that Sambo received either a brass check or a small
amount in Italian currency on each call. Eventually
this pilgrimage to places of Venetian commercialism
was finished. I said to Sambo: " What in the world is
the meaning of all this? "

He said: " Why, signor, did you not observe? We
have been friendly together, have we not? "

I said: " Certainly, Sambo, but it strikes me as funny
that you should take me to places where you know I
have no idea of buying anything."

" Ah, signor, you do not understand the situation
here in Venice. You see, these glass people, these lace
people — and other people — give us gondoliers a com-
mission. When we get so many brass checks, we go over
and cash them in, and get a certain percentage for such
business as we may have brought to the business houses.
When we get money, of course that comes in the shape
of tips such as you have seen, and we put that direct in
our pockets.

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SWITZERLAND AND ITALY

" I want to say to you, signor, that although my story
rnay offend you, and you may think I had no right to
take you on the ride, which, as you will remember, I
suggested should be on me, I have succeeded in accumu-
lating nine lire. Signor, please do not take offense. I
knew the game. Will you not come as my guest to-night
at one of our gondolier's restaurants, where I will spend
every one of those nine lire on a good dinner? "

I suppose that Sambo is still inviting other innocent
people like myself to pilgrimages to the lace and glass
houses of Venice.

Of Rome, which I visited after my experiences in
Venice, there is also much that I should like to say liter-
arily, if I felt that I could do it. Most writers dwell
heavily on the ancient sadness of Rome. There was
nothing in the ancient sadness of Rome, during the
month that I spent in that city, in the spring of 1895,
which compared with the sadness which came over me on
going to the English cemetery and reading the names of
certain great men known to all the world, and of certain
young men known personally to me, Englishmen and
Americans, who are buried in that picturesque but un-
waveringly sad spot.

A friend of mine, who has since settled down and
gone in for all the intricacies of what settling down
means, was with me in Rome, on a certain night in 1895,
when there was a discussion of what was the best thing
for two students at a German university to do. It was
decided that, first of all, Gambrinus, in the Corso, was
the best place for considering things. I remember that

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MY LIFE

my friend lost his umbrella. As it came time to leave
the Gambrinus, he became very indignant over the disap-
pearance of this umbrella, which he thought should be
in his hands at any time that he wanted it. The um-
brella was not to be found. The supposition was that
one of the waiters had taken it. How could this be
proved? We called our waiter and said to him:
" Where is that umbrella? "

He replied: " Signor, I have no idea."

My friend said: " Well, suppose you get an idea just
about as quickly as you know how."

The waiter said that he would do as suggested. He
went to the proprietor's wife, and came back pretty soon
and said that there was no record of any missing um-
brella.

My friend, who was completely occupied with the de-
termination that he was going to get that umbrella, got
up, and, in his very abrupt way, said : " You bring me my
' bamberillo.' If you don't, there will be trouble."

On account of fear that there might be some other
instruments used than those which would ordinarily go
after this pronouncement of my friend, I suggested that
we proceed up a certain stairway and ask the proprietor's
wife whether she did not think that my friend should
get his " bamberillo " back. She replied, with such
pathos as a German woman is capable of: "I fear you
do not understand the Italian mind. This Italian mind
is strange and peculiar."

" Yes," my friend said in German, " it is so strange
that I cannot find my ' bamberillo.

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j >>

SWITZERLAND AND ITALY

The good Hausfrau said: "Well, you must excuse
us down in this country of — Ja, Sie kennen das Vieh,
nicht wahrf "

From Rome I went to Naples. My money gave out
in this town with pronounced persistency. I received
there fifty dollars a month to meet all bills — promissory
notes and other financial engagements. My home dur-
ing my residence in the city was a room which I shared
unwillingly with two of the most marvelous cats that I
have ever known. Some men say they like cats. It
would please me to have any one of these men sentenced
to ten days' imprisonment in my room in the Santa Lucia
in Naples. The song called " Santa Lucia " is often
heard in our streets. It is a pleasant song for those
who have never had to live in the Santa Lucia with cats
as I did. I honestly tried to increase my Italian vocabu-
lary with the Neapolitan variations while in Naples.
But I could never find any word, vituperative or other-
wise, that would explain what those cats that prowled
around in that strange room in the Santa Lucia meant
to me. I make so much of them because they made so
much of me during my fifty-dollar-a-month existence in
Italy. I found it difficult to live within my bounds.
My fifty dollars a month were generally all torn to pieces
by the twentieth of the month, and not always on account
of nonsense. At this time I was much engaged in buy-
ing books that interested me, and I think it fair to say
that a good quarter of my monthly stipend went for their
purchase.

On the twentieth, particularly in Naples, I was very

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MY LIFE

ragged with my fifty dollars. I had a proprietor there
in this catful Santa Lucia who was a North Italian. My
fifty dollars did not reach me as quickly as I wanted it
and I got worried. My rent was due. It was a prob-
lem how I was to make this plain to the landlord. In the
end I went to him and said in all frankness: " I should
like to say to you, signor, that I am very much disap-
pointed that my money has not come. It will come. It
must come. There seems to be some delay."

Again there was that fine Italian touch. He said:
" My son, do not be worried. I understand your diffi-
culty. Mio figlio," and he patted me on the back, " you
will be taken care of." Is there anything in the English
language that can beat that?

While I was stopping in the Santa Lucia I took my
meals, such as I could get, in a restaurant one or two
doors away. In this restaurant were all kinds of truck-
men, cabmen and men in general who have to spend much
of their time in the open air. I had learned in Venice
that there was a strong bond of sympathy among Italian
criminals.

It occurred to me that while I was among some of
these people, it would be worth while to learn something
about the Maffia Society and the Camorra. I had heard
indirectly that these societies were working pretty well in
their own interests at home.

How many Italians there are in the United States I
do not know. It is questionable whether any one else
knows exactly. We certainly know that there are several
millions of them. My interest in inquiring in Naples,

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SWITZERLAND AND ITALY

so far as I was able, into the workings of the Maffia and
the Camorra, was to find out, if I could, what power
they were alleged to have over their own countrymen.

In pursuance of these facts, I ran up against a fac-
chino. A facchino is a common porter in Italy.

I said to one of my facchino friends: " Can you not
make me acquainted with some friend in the Maffia
Society? "

He was a genuine lounger, a stevedore, a longshore-
man— and a big man.

He said to me, in effect: " Are you not wise enough
to go into that park, where you can meet anybody, and
find out all you want to know about the Maffia or the
Camorra? "

I said: "Yes, I suppose I am. But what will it
cost?"

" Why, you just go over there. Perhaps you will
find somebody of the stripe you want; perhaps you
won't."

I made no discoveries that were of any value. But
what is to be said about my friend, the facchino, and the
Maffia and the Camorra? I look at it this way. If
these people have quarrels which so concern themselves,
then let them proceed on their own lines. If they have
quarrels in my country, and think that by any chance
their secret societies can rule my country, they have
terribly mistaken their calling. They are not so danger-
ous as the newspapers make them out to be. They
believe, true enough, in their end of the game, to a finish,
which can sometimes be disturbing.

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MY LIFE

I asked my facchino friend what he thought in general
of the people who might be called Maffia or Camorra
in the park which he suggested.

" Well, he said, " I no more know what the Maffia
or the Camorra will do, than I know what will happen
to me in the next five minutes."

" Then I must make my own conclusions," was my
reply.

226

CHAPTER XVII

A VISIT TO TOLSTOY

IN midsummer of 1896 I learned to know Tolstoy.
It was at the time of the National Exhibition at
Nijni-Novgorod. Cheap excursion tickets on the
railroads and river boats were to be had throughout the
summer, while correspondents for foreign newspapers
were given first-class passes for three months in every
rod of railroad trackage in the country. It was an
opportunity for exercising Wanderlust in style such as
had never before come my way. Baedeker's little book
on the Russian language was bought, introductions to
friends in St. Petersburg were secured, and away I went
to spend preliminarily a week or so as a field-hand, or
in any other capacity that I was equal to, on Tolstoy's
farm, at Yasnaya Polyana, an estate about one hundred
and fifty miles south of Moscow. At that time I was not
sure about the railroad pass. In St. Petersburg, friends
kindly put me in the way of getting it, and on I went to
Moscow, and, before the summer was over, to hundreds
of other towns and villages in different parts of the
Empire. On two hundred and fifty Russian words, or
thereabouts, my passport, free railroad transportation,
and perhaps $75, I traveled, before I got back to Ber-

227

MY LIFE

lin, about twenty-five thousand miles. I kept my hotel
expenses down by living on trains. First-class railroad
accommodations include a bed. So when night came
I calmly took my berth in a train bound in any direction
long enough to secure me a good rest. In the morning
I got out and looked about me, or rode on as I liked.
This proceeding also saved me passport dues at hotels,
an item of considerable expense in Russia if one does
much traveling. My meals were found at the stations,
which provide the best railroad restaurant service found
anywhere. With all the saving, sight-seeing and riding,
however, my vacation over, I was heartily glad to return
to Germany, and for months afterwards my W anderlust
was delightfully under control.

By all odds the most interesting national feature that
Russia allowed me to see was Count Tolstoy. The
Tsar, the museums, the palaces, the large estates, the
great unworked Ninghik — these men and things were
entertaining, but they did not take my fancy as did the
novelist and would-be philanthropist. And yet I had
never read any of Tolstoy's novels before meeting him,
and my notions of his altruism were vague, indeed —
about what the ideas are of people who have never been
in Russia or seen Tolstoy, and who, on learning that
you have been there and met him ask immediately:
" Say, on the level, is he a fakir or not? "

Once and for all, so far as my simple intercourse with
him is concerned, it may be most boldly declared that he
never was a fakir — no more of one when he was sam-
pling all the vices he could hear of, than he is now in

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A VISIT TO TOLSTOY

urging others not to follow his examples as an explorer
of Vicedom. It is strange, but when a man, who has
sampled everything that he could, in the way of deviltry,
and then quits such sampling, says that he has enough,
and attempts to steer others on a better tack than he
took, there is a prodigious amount of doubt in thousands
of minds as to whether the man sampled enough cussed-
ness to know what the real article is, or whether others
should fight shy of what he saw or not.

The man at Yasnaya Polyana in 1896 was a fairly
well preserved old gentleman, with a white beard, sunken
gray eyes, overhanging bushy eyebrows, a slight stoop in
the shoulders, which were carrying, I think, pretty close
to seventy years of age. He wore the simple peasant
clothes about which there has been so much nonsensical
talk. Every man who lives in the country in Russia,
puts on, when summer comes, garments very similar in
cut and shape to those worn by the Ninghik. The main
difference during the warm months between the Ning-
hik's outfit and that of his employer's is that the latter's
is clean and the Ninghik's isn't.

My purpose in going to Yasnaya Polyana was mainly
journalistic, I fear. The entire trip in Russia, indeed,
was to find " available " copy for the New York news-
paper referred to. The free railroad transportation
allowed me to cover " news " stories on very short notice,
and also made it easy to get material for " space " arti-
cles. Or, rather, on first getting it, I thought that the
pass would work wonders along these lines. In other
hands it would very possibly have done so, but the

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MY LIFE

" available " matter finally delivered by me proved only
moderately successful. Putting aside all questions of
ability, reputation and connections, it has been my expe-
rience that European " stuff " is not in such demand in
the United States that the average writer can make it
support him even on a vegetarian diet. Our editors, as
a rule, want American " stuff." Only in very recent
years have they given much attention even to the foreign
news service, leaving the gathering, sifting, and distribu-
tion of the day's facts to newsmongers who have often
been as unscrupulous as they were incapable.

Americans flock to Europe in thousands, going fever-
ishly from place to place as if their very lives depended
on seeing such trifles as the old snuff-boxes of ancient
celebrities. Nothing must escape them. They want
their money's worth at every turn. A few tarry longer
than the rest and try to acquire some knowledge of the
present condition of the countries and people they see.
But the vast majority push on hurriedly, elbowing their
way into nooks and crannies of alleged historical interest,
until Europe becomes for many of them, probably most
of them, a mere museum of things " starred " or not
" starred " as the guidebook man saw fit to make them.
The life of the people, their contemporaries, is looked
into only incidentally; " anteeks " are what the mob is
after and look for. This indifference to present-day
Europe, its politics, social customs and institutions, has
in the past been largely to blame for the inefficiency of
our foreign news service. What was the use of going
to heavy expense to inform Americans about things

230

A VISIT TO TOLSTOY

abroad which they would pay no attention to when they
were abroad themselves? The publishers and editors
reasoned that there was no use, and even at this late
day many of them prefer a news item from Yankton,
Dakota, to one from London. Their readers may know
very little more about Yankton than about London, but
that does not matter. Perhaps they have relatives in
Dakota, or formerly loaned money to farmers out there
at three per cent, a month. That settles the matter for
the newsmongers. The Yankton dispatch is given
prominence, although it refers to nothing of more impor-
tance than a divorce. Its provinciality is of greater cash
value to the newspaper than the cosmopolitan signifi-
cance of the message from London. This, and more
that might be said, has made a foreign correspondent's
life in Europe unattractive, to say the least. At one time,
however, I seriously considered preparing myself for
such a career. The trip to Russia was meant as a trying-
out of my qualifications. It seemed to me then, and, if
our newspapers, or, rather the newspaper readers, would
take more interest in other things than massacres, nota-
ble suicides and fashionable scandals, it would seem to
me now, that such a calling ought to be useful as well as
profitable. Until our people care more, however, for a
well-considered article from London or Berlin than they
do for a hasty " wire " from Wilkesbarre concerning the
mobbing of an Italian, the usefulness and commercial
value of the foreign correspondent's efforts do not appear
very evident. At any rate, the time came when I decided
that my foreign " stuff " was not of the bread-winning

231

MY LIFE

kind, and I threw overboard the dream of becoming a
writer on such lines. To this hour, however, I regret
that some good opening in the foreign service did not
show up at the time the dream was so present.

But to return to Tolstoy and Yasnaya Polyana. All
told, I was in and about this place for ten days, seeing
Tolstoy and his family practically every day; even when
I did not stop in the house overnight I divided my time
between Yasnaya Polyana and the home of a neighbor
of the Tolstoys. When staying at Yasnaya Polyana I
slept in what was called the Count's library, but it was
evidently a bedroom as well. At the neighbor's home I
had a cot in the barn where two young Russians, friends
of the Count, also slept. They were helping Tolstoy
" re-edit " the Four Gospels, omitting in their edition
such verses as Tolstoy found confusing or non-essential.
The life on the old estate at Yasnaya Polyana has been
described so often by both English and American visi-
tors, that there is very little that I can add to the known
description of the grounds and daily routine. The place
looks neglected and unkempt in many respects, but the
two remaining wings of the old mansion are roomy and
comfortable. Eight children of the original sixteen were
living at the time of my visit, ranging in years from
fourteen to thirty and over. The Countess was the
" boss " of the establishment in and out of the house.
What she said of a morning constituted the law for
the day, so far as work was concerned. She had assist-
ants, and I think a superintendent, to help her, but she
was the final authority in matters of management. The

232

A VISIT TO TOLSTOY

Count did not appear to take any active part in the
direction of affairs. He spent his time writing, riding,
walking and visiting with the guests, of whom there were
a goodly number. At one time he may have worked in
the fields with the peasants, but in July of 1896 he did
not share any of their toil — at least I personally did not
see him at work among them. His second daughter,
Maria Lvovna, however, the one child that in those days
was trying to put her father's theories to a practical test,
was a field worker of no mean importance, certainly to
the peasants, if not to her mother. Trained as a nurse
she was also the neighborhood physician, having a little
pharmacy in the straggling, dirty village outside the
lodge gates. It was through her kindness that I was
permitted to join the peasants in the hayfield, and to
get acquainted with them in their dingy cabins. Al-
though it was pleasanter to gather with the other chil-
dren on the tennis court, the haying experience was at
any rate healthy and, to some extent, instructive. I
noticed, however, that my presence caused considerable
merriment among the peasants. They had grown accus-
tomed to Maria Lvovna, indeed she had grown up
among them, whereas I was a stranger of whom they
knew nothing beyond the little that Maria had told them.
Some of them no doubt thought it very foolish of me to
prefer haying to tennis and refreshments, while others
probably doubted the sincerity of my purpose — viz. : to
get acquainted with their conditions and to see what
effect Maria Lvovna's would-be altruism was having
upon them. I might as well state immediately that at

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MY LIFE

no time did I succeed in finding out satisfactorily what
this effect was, if it existed at all. That she was a very
welcome companion in the fields and cabins there could
be no doubt, but was this due to the peasant's correct
interpretation of her intentions or to her commercial
value to them as a voluntary, wageless helper? Maria
herself thought that some of the peasants understood her
position as well as her father's teachings. Not being
able to converse with the peasants privately I cannot say
whether she was deceived or not.

Some years previous she had also tried to conduct a
village school independent of the priest's, but she was
finally forced to give it up on account of clerical opposi-
tion. As neighborhood physician and nurse, however,
she had ample opportunity to teach the peasants what
she believed, and to reason with them about following the
dictates of their own consciences rather than the behests
of the clergy and the orders of the military. At the
time of my visit I think she had made most headway
among the men, unwilling taxpayers in Russia at all
times. To be told that the priests and military should
support themselves without assistance from the peasantry
was sweet music indeed. " Think how much more
money we can have for vodka ! " many an Ivan must
have whispered when Maria was exhorting them not to
be soldiers, and to refuse their financial support of the
church.

In one cabin we visited together Maria noticed several
colored portraits of the Imperial family hanging on the
wall. They were set in metal frames.

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A VISIT TO TOLSTOY

" How comes it," Maria exclaimed, " that I see so
many emperors this morning ? "

The big, burly peasant looked sheepishly at her, and
then, mumbling that his wife was to blame, swept the
pictures into his hands and threw them into a cupboard.

" The woman likes such things," the man explained.
" I put them away, but she gets them out again."

Maria thought that the peasant was sincere in his
renunciation of Tsar worship, and perhaps he was. I
think, however, that, like many of the other peasants
on the estate, he found it financially profitable rather
than spiritually consoling to have Maria think him one
of her converts.

Only two days before our call at this cabin, for
instance, he had stolen some wood from the Countess.
I believe that it was a log " which he thought the
Countess would not need." The superintendent had dis-
covered the theft, and the peasant had been, or was to
be, reported.

" But, Maria," he said, when begging Maria to inter-
cede for him with her mother, " tell the Countess how
much more I could have taken. Just a log like that —
that is no crime, is it? " Maria told him that she would
do what she could, and we left the man happy, Maria's
promise of intercession seeming to be as good to him as
the forgiveness of the Countess. Nothing was said
about the return of the log.

In this, as in many other cases, Maria was doubtless
exploited by the cunning peasants — the Ninghik can be
uncommonly cunning in small things — but she said in

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MY LIFE

reply to my suspicion in this regard: " Even so. Who
could expect such people to be upright in everything?
Besides the man confessed his offense. He is a good
fellow in his way. Seldom beats his wife and does not
drink overmuch. I believe in building all that one can
on such good qualities as he shows, and if I intercede for
him it may increase my influence for good in his family."

" It may also confirm him in his pilfering habits," I
interposed. " He will learn to expect friendly interfer-
ence on your part on such occasions."

" Perhaps so, but I prefer to think not," and that
ended Maria's argument in the matter, as it did in many
other talks I had with her, the Count and those neighbors
who could be called his " disciples."

Their principles and religious beliefs were never given
prominence in general conversation unless they were
directly asked about them. They chose by preference
to live them as best they could, rather than polemlcize
about them. Only on two or three occasions did Maria,
for instance, advance any of the ideas about how the
world was to be made better, and then only because I
had quizzed her point-blank. Day after day she went
her quiet way, haying, nursing, doctoring, and when she
could spare the time, enjoying herself on the tennis
court.

Her older sister, Totyana, was by no means so active
in her acceptation of her father's teachings. Indeed, in
1896 she was still very undecided about them. She told
me, one day, laughingly, that for the present she was
only half won over; " perhaps when I am as old as my

236

A VISIT TO TOLSTOY

father I shall be wholly won over." In her way she
seemed quite as happy as Maria; all of the children, in
fact, saw life on its brighter side, even to one of the
older boys, who was a soldier, and put much store on
multi-colored uniforms and ornamented cigarette cases.
What the Countess really thought about the whole busi-
ness I never found out. We had one short conversation
about the Count and his work, during which she deliv-
ered herself of these remarks: "You will hear many
things here that I do not agree with — I believe it is bet-
ter to be and do than to preach." I judged from these
sentiments that Tolstoyism as a cult had not captured
her. That she thought much of the Count as a man and
husband was evident from her solicitous care of him.

The Count himself, although very approachable, was
so busy with one thing and another during my stay, that
only on two occasions did we have anything like a satis-
factory conversation. And these two opportunities
could be only partially improved by me because I hon-
estly did not know what to talk about with the old gentle-
man— or rather there was so much that I wanted to
ask him, but did not know how to formulate in the way
that I fancied such a great man would expect questions
to be put, that the time went by and I had done but
little more than observe the man's manners, and listen
to what he volunteered to say without being questioned.
We spoke in English and German, as it happened to
suit.

Now, that I look back over the experience and recall
the old gentleman's willingness to talk on any subject,

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MY LIFE

I regret exceedingly that I did not quiz him about liter-
ary contemporaries and affairs. The principal thing he
said along these lines that comes to mind now concerned
poetry and how it impressed him. We were sitting in
the music room, and some one had said something about
the relative values of prose and poetry as methods of
expression. Tolstoy preferred prose.

" Poetry," he said, pointing to the parquet floor,
" reminds me of a man trying to walk zigzag across the
room on those squares. It twists and turns in all direc-
tions before it can arrive anywhere. Prose, on the other
hand, is direct; it goes straight at the mark."

Talking about America and Americans, one after-
noon, he was much interested in William Dean Howells,
Henry George and the late Henry Demarest Lloyd. He
told me that there were four men in the world that he
was very anxious to bring together; he believed that a
conference between them would throw much light on the
world's needs. Two of the men, if my memory is cor-
rect, were Mr. Howells and Mr. Lloyd.

Only one strictly theological, or rather religious bit
of conversation occurs to me now. We were walking in
the fields, the Count having spent the day at his friend's
house where the Four Gospels were being overhauled.
The talk wandered along in a rather loose fashion until
we came to the subject of miracles — we also tackled para-
bles before we got through.

I had become a little mixed in understanding the
Count, and said something like this : " And the miracles
you consider so illuminating? "

238

A VISIT TO TOLSTOY

" No, no, no," he returned, " anything but illuminat-
ing; they are befogging. It is the parables that I find
so clear and instructive. The miracles will have to go,
but the parables we could not possibly spare."

On no occasion did the Count ask me what I believed.
The matter seemed to make very little difference to him,
or, at any rate, if I believed anything and was made
happy thereby, he did not see the use in taking it up in
conversation.

In the dining room, one noon, he said to me: "I see
that you like tobacco." There was no critical or
reproachful accent in the remark; he merely noted what
was a fact.

" I used to be fond of it," he went on, looking down
at the floor, " and I used a good deal of it. I finally
thought that it was doing me harm and let it go." Other
things that had been " let go," liquor and meat, for
instance, had apparently been given up on the same sim-
ple ground — they were injurious to his health. Religion,
self-denial for self-denial's sake, " setting a good exam-
ple," etc., these matters did not appear to have influ-
enced him. At any rate, he did not speak of them when
talking about his renunciations, and, in the case of
tobacco, frankly said that if he were young again, " no
doubt it would be pleasant to use it again." In a word,
his vegetarianism and self-service, so far as anything that
he said to me is concerned, were due as much to hygienic
notions as to religious scruples. And yet I was told by
a very trustworthy person that the old gentleman regrets
very much that the simple life, as he sees it, cannot pre-

239

MY LIFE

vail throughout his home. At table, for instance, he
would prefer that all hands should help one another,
and that the Countess' white-gloved servants be dis-
pensed with. In his personal life he seemed to be trying
to be his own servant as much as possible.

240

CHAPTER XVIII

SOME ANECDOTES OF TOLSTOY

A GOOD illustration of Tolstoy's irresponsibility
on the estate, or what he meant to be such, is the
way he invited me to stop one night at his house.
I had gone swimming with the boys to a pool perhaps a
quarter of a mile from the house, and it was getting to
be time for me to know whether I was to sleep at the
Tolstoy's or in the neighbor's barn. While we were dry-
ing and dressing ourselves, I heard a voice in the brush-
wood near-by saying: " Meester Fleent, my wife invites
you to spend the night with us." It was the Count him-
self, who had come all that distance to tell me that his
wife had told him that he was to seek me out, and deliver
her invitation, not his. I shall always remember his face
as it appeared through the twigs, and the errand-boy
accent in his voice and manner. I have never before seen
greatness in such a humble posture. It was openly said
to me by one of the Count's friends that this humility
has given the old gentleman considerable trouble, in its
acquirement as well as in its exercise. Probably we shall
know much more about all this when the Count's Journal
is published. I learned this much on the spot: Tolstoy
feels very keenly the seeming inconsistency of his life, the

241

MY LIFE

fact that he cannot make his altruistic notions harmonize
with his daily life. His chagrin has, on one or two occa-
sions, nearly made a coward of him. At night, when no
one was looking, he has slunk away toward Moscow, like
a tramp, to be himself somewhere. But always, before
he has got far, a voice has said to him : " Lyoff Nicolaye-
vitch, you are afraid. You dread the remarks of the
crowd. You shrink on hearing that you preach what
you don't practice. You are trying to run away from it
all, to be comfortable yourself whether others are or not.

" Think of your wife and children, of the home you
have made. Is it your right to sneak away from all this
just to make yourself look and sound consistent? Have
you not duties toward your wife and children to observe ?
Do you think you can throw over all that you were to
them and they to you merely to satisfy your vanity —
vanity, Lyoff, and nothing more. You are vain in your
very sneaking. You insist upon appearing all that you
think you are.

" Back, back, back! Remember your wife and chil-
dren. Remember that you have no right to make them
think and live the way you would. Remember that to
sneak away is cowardly. Back, Lyoff Nicolayevitch ! "
And back the old man has trudged, to take up his burden
as a citizen.

One night he talked with me about my tramps. He
asked me why I had made them, how the vagabonds
lived, and why I had not continued to live among them.
I told him the truth. He stroked his white beard and
looked dreamily at the chess-board.

242

SOME ANECDOTES OF TOLSTOY

" If I were younger," he said at last, " I should like
to make a tramp trip with you here in Russia. Years
ago I used to wander about among them a good deal.
Now, I am too old — too old," and he ran his hands
rheumatically up and down his legs.

When leaving Yasnaya Polyana, I asked the Count's
neighbor in whose house I had slept whether there was
anything I could do for him or the Count during my
travels. My railroad pass was good yet for a number of
weeks, and it occurred to me that, perhaps, during my
wanderings I could run some errand for Tolstoy. At
the time, I had no thought that my proposition could
get him, myself or anybody else into trouble. To be
sure, Mr. Breckenridge, the American Minister at St.
Petersburg, had given me, in addition to my passport, a
general letter " To whom it may concern," recommend-
ing me to everybody as a bona fide American citizen and
gentleman, and bespeaking for me in advance the
friendly offices of all with whom I might be thrown.
But I failed utterly to see how I was going back on this
letter in offering to render a service that the Count, or
rather his neighbor, asked me to render.

When it came time to go, the neighbor handed me a
large sealed envelope, containing letters, which I was to
deliver, if possible, into the hands of one Prince Chilkoff,
a nephew I believe of the then Minister of Railways,
who was temporarily banished to a rural community in
the Baltic Provinces, about two hundred miles from St.
Petersburg. I knew nothing about the Prince, or what
he had done to offend the powers that be. What the

243

MY LIFE

letters contained, was, of course, a private matter into
which I knew enough not to inquire. There was a
promise in the undertaking which attracted me, and I
willingly accepted the commission. Arriving in St.
Petersburg I called on Mr. Breckenridge and happened
to mention the errand that I was on. I told him that
Chilkoff was banished in the sense that he had to live
within given boundaries, but that I hardly thought he
had done anything very serious, adding that his uncle
was one of the Ministers of State. All that I know
to-day about young Chilkoff's offense was that he was
alleged to have been mixed up too intimately for his own
good with the Donkhobors and other more or less
tabooed religious sects in the Caucasus.

At first Mr. Breckenridge did not see anything out
of the way in my errand, and very kindly offered to assist
me officially in seeing the Prince, i.e., he suggested that
we openly ask for governmental permission to proceed to
the Prince's home. Then I mentioned the secret package
of letters. The Minister's manner changed. " Suppose
you dine with me to-night," he said, " and we will dis-
cuss those letters." I did so, and the upshot of the meet-
ing was that the package of letters was ordered back to
Yasnaya Polyana. At the time it seemed a pretty
humiliating trip to be sent on, but I am glad now that
I did not shirk it. " I have recommended you as a gen-
tleman to the Russian government and people," said the
Minister, " both in the letter I gave you to the Minister
of Finance when you were getting the correspondent's
pass and in the later one of a general character. For

244

SOME ANECDOTES OF TOLSTOY

you to undertake secret missions of this character may
very easily make the government wonder whether I knew
what constitutes a gentleman when I gave you those
letters."

I have had to eat a number of different kinds of hum-
ble pie in my day, and tramp life let me into some of the
inner recesses of humiliation that no one but a tramp ever
knows about; but no journey has ever made me feel quite
so cheap and small as that return trip from St. Peters-
burg to Tula, the railway station where visitors to Yas-
naya Polyana leave the train. I telegraphed ahead
advising the Count's neighbor of my coming, and
expected that he would meet me at the station. What
was my surprise, on arriving at Tula, to find the old
Count himself waiting for me.

" Ah ! Meester Fleent," he exclaimed as I got off the
train and greeted him, " have you brought me news from
Prince Chilkoff ? "

I wished at the time that I could sink out of sight
under the platform, so pathetically eager was the
Count's expectancy. There were only a few moments
to spare, and I clumsily blurted out the truth, trying at
the same time to explain how sorry I was. The Count
calmly opened the envelope and glanced at the letters.

" Oh, it wouldn't have mattered," he said, and after
shaking hands, went back to his house. He neither
seemed vexed nor embarrassed. A suggestion of a
tired look came into his face — he had ridden seventeen
versts — that was all.

One of his " disciples," referring to this affair and my

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MY LIFE

connection with it, some weeks later, ventured the state-
ment that I had " funked " in the matter. I hardly
think the Count felt this way about it, whatever else
he may have thought. At the time, however, as he rode
away on his horse, the letters tucked carelessly under
his blouse, I would have given a good deal to know
exactly what was in his mind. I remember very accu-
rately what was in mine — a resolution, that, whatever
else I did or did not do in life, I would never accept
an official letter to the effect that I was a gentleman and
then proceed to do something which was likely to get the
letter-writer into trouble. " Either leave such letters
alone," I counseled myself, " and be your own inter-
preter of gentlemanliness, or know, before accepting
them, what will be expected of you."

Tolstoy, no doubt, has long since forgotten this epi-
sode, but I never will. In a way it left a bad taste in my
mouth, and I felt that I had spoiled my experience at
Yasnaya Polyana. I outgrew this feeling, however, and
often think now of my visit to the Count and his family
as I did when I drove away to Tula in the two-wheeled
cart. I likened myself at the time to a dog " caught with
the goods on," so to speak, and slinking away with his
tail between his legs, but with the " goods " held tight
in his mouth. Something, I know not what, unless it
was the sweet peace and kindliness of the Count and his
surroundings, seemed such forbidden fruit for me of my
tempestuous career to taste of, that I felt very much as
I used to feel as a boy when caught trespassing in other
people's orchards. It did not seem right that one who

246

SOME ANECDOTES OF TOLSTOY

had been through what I had should be allowed to enter
into such an atmosphere of good cheer. Nevertheless, I
was glad that entrance had not been denied me, and
made many solemn resolutions to profit by the experi-
ence. Whether the resolutions have been kept with the
fervor and determination that animated me in 1896, I
would rather not say. But one remembrance is as vivid
and dear to me to-day as when I rode away in the cart :
the Count and his desire to do the right thing. " If
to be like him," I have often caught myself saying,
" makes one a fakir, then let us all be fakirs as quickly
as possible." Unpractical, yes, in some things; a vision-
ary, perhaps; a " literary " reformer, also perhaps. But
my simple testimony about him and his is that I have yet
to spend ten days in a gentler and sweeter neighborhood
than those I enjoyed in and about Yasnaya Polyana.

247

CHAPTER XIX

I MEET GENERAL KUROPATKIN

IT is a far cry from Count Tolstoy and Yasnaya
Polyana to General Kuropatkin and Central Asia,
but while dealing with men and things Russian I
might as well tell here as elsewhere of my visit to Central
Asia in the fall of 1897. Again the motive was journal-
istic, and again I was the proud holder of a pass over all
the Russian State Railways, not over the private lines,
however, as the year before. I have to thank Prince
Chilkoff, the Minister of Railways, for this second pass.
He had become considerably interested in my travels,
and on learning that I contemplated excursions into
remote parts of Russia he kindly offered to ask the Tsar
to grant me free transportation for three months " in
order that my investigations might be facilitated."
When the transportation finally reached me, it read :
" With Imperial Permission." I have always thought
that there was an undue amount of red-tape in getting
the pass, but Prince Chilkoff personally assured me that
he must formally ask the Tsar for it before it could be
issued. This being trues the poor Tsar has more to
attend to, particularly in these later days, than ought to

248

I MEET GENERAL KUROPATKIN

fall to the lot of one man. Truly, he is an overworked
man, if he must give attention to such minor details.
No wonder if some anarchist pots him. There is not a
railroad manager in the United States that could do all *
that the Tsar is alleged to have his hand in on the rail-
roads, and at the same time run a great nation, a national
church, and the largest army in the world. Conse-
quently the Imperial permission did not make the impres-
sion upon me that it would have, had I believed that the
Tsar had done anything more than nod his head, or
make a scratch of the pen, when Prince Chilkoff asked
for the pass.

I had seen the Tsar the year before, just after his
coronation in Moscow. The occasion was the Imperial
return to St. Petersburg, following the terrible accident
on the Chodyuka Field in Moscow where thousands of
men, women and children were crushed to death in the
mad scramble for the coronation mugs. Rumor darkly
hinted at the time that the scramble was a forced affair,
that certain officials charged with furnishing the crowd
with mugs and refreshments, had made a deal with the
purveyors of these things whereby a much smaller supply
than was necessary should be furnished, the surplus
money paid out for an adequate supply going to the
crooked officials and dealers — that the scramble, in a
word, was a preconcerted scheme to cover up their devil-
ish machinations. Charges of graft and corruption are
so numerous and haphazard in Russia that one can sel-
dom find out the truth. Whether this particular deal
was actual or not, however, the look on the Tsar's face

249

MY LIFE

when he rode down the Neffsky Prospect on his return
from Moscow was dismal enough to make almost any
rumor credible. I had a window on the Prospect directly
opposite the Duma (City Hall), where the Tsar and
Tsarina accept bread and salt from the city fathers on
such occasions. A good shot could have picked off the
Tsar at that moment with ease.

A more tired-out, disgusted, bilious-looking monarch
than was Nicholas during that Neffsky ride I have never
seen. The ceremony at the Duma over, he and his wife
were whisked away toward the Winter Palace, bowing
languidly to the right and left. " Insignificant " was the
word I heard from those about me at my window, and it
sums up the man's looks, and I am afraid his importance
as well.

In 1897, the local Tsar of Russian Central Asia was
General Kuropatkin, the soldier who seems at the present
writing to have buried his reputation as a commander-in-
chief in Manchuria. At the time in question he was
looked upon as one of the ablest and most popular gen-
erals in the Russian army. He was also supreme "boss"
in the district under his command. When the visit of the
party of which I was a member was about over, and we
were to leave Central Asia, two or three enthusiastic
Britons thought that it would be worth while to wire
our gratitude to the Tsar. Kuropatkin was asked about
the advisability of such a proceeding. I was not present
when the question was put to him, but one who was
present told me that Kuropatkin replied: "What's the

250

Frances E. Willard. Maternal Aunt of Josiah Flynt

A*1

xt*D

SI°M^

it^D

■ ■

fOU

lO***1

I MEET GENERAL KUROPATKIN

use? I represent the Tsar here and will transmit your
message to him." The telegram was sent nevertheless,
via the British Embassy, and, as usual, in such cases,
we eventually learned that the Tsar had, metaphorically
speaking, spent his entire time wondering how he could
make our visit in his dominions more entrancing.

The excursion was the first of the kind ever permitted
in Russia's Central Asia possessions. It was really a
commercial undertaking on the part of a tourists' agency
in London, but because it was unique in Central Asian
history and also on account of Kuropatkin's hospitality,
it received a significance, social as well as political, which
does not ordinarily accompany such enterprises. The
tourist agency had gathered together thirty-odd Britons
at the last moment, two lone Americans, a Southern
lady from South Carolina, who, when reaching Samar-
cand and learning that she was almost directly opposite
Charleston, South Carolina (on the other side of the
world), cheerfully said: "How dear!" — and myself.
The British Foreign Office was asked to appeal to the
Russian Foreign Office to let us into the forbidden coun-
try— forbidden in the sense that one required a special
passport from the Russian War Office before he was
allowed to cross the Caspian. At least this was the story
told in those days, and Englishmen were eager to believe
it because the Russians had pushed their southern fron-
tier so affectionately toward Afghanistan and India. It
seemed to be their idea that the Russians were afraid to
let them see what they (the Russians) were doing on
their side of the Afghanistan fence. The Russian War

251

MY LIFE

Office communicated with Kuropatkin at Askabad, ask-
ing him whether he was afraid to let the Britons see
how the Russian side was getting on. Kuropatkin
replied: " Let them come in."

I joined the party at Tiflis, crossing the Black Sea
from Sebastopol to Batum. On the steamer were two
of the Britons. One evening we were all sitting in the
smoking room. The Britons spoke their English with
all its accents, and some of it I could not help listening
to, trying nevertheless not to mind that they spoke it
after the " We own the World " fashion. One of the
Britons made up his mind that I was a Russian spy.
On several occasions he looked at me as if I had no
right on any ship that carried him. He also made blas-
phemous remarks about me to his friend. I learned
later that he represented The Standard of London. He
wrote several letters to his paper about the trip, and, on
one occasion, even tried to send a dispatch concerning
an interview the newspaper correspondents had with
Kuropatkin at Askabad. I have been told since that
only a few of his articles ever reached their destination.
I have seldom met a man so submerged in the world of
suspicion.

Kuropatkin received us at Askabad, the administra-
tive Russian town. How he looked and acted during the
Russian-Japanese War I do not know, but he looked the
foxy soldier in every detail at Askabad. I say foxy
advisedly. He had a detective's eyes, the reserve of a
detective's chief, and the physique of a man who could
stand much more punishment than his uniform would

252

I MEET GENERAL KUROPATKIN

give him room for. Since the Japanese War it has been
said that he is a thief — or a grafter, if that be more
euphemistic. Certain persons claim that he is five
million rubles winner as a result of the war. What cer-
tain persons say in Russia, and, I am sorry to say, out of
it, also, so far as many of the dispatches to American
newspapers is concerned, is really nothing but gos-
sip. Fortunately, the Russians know what gossip
is, and merely let it drip. Unfortunately for readers of
American newspapers certain correspondents do not
make the slightest effort to distinguish between gossip
and facts.

Our party spent seventeen days all told in Kuropat-
kin's bailiwick, or Trans-Caspia as it is officially called.
We lived in a special train, stopping at the different
places of interest for a few hours, or overnight, as cir-
cumstances required. The train was in " command "
of a colonel. The diplomatic side of the journey was
attended to by a representative of the Foreign Office,
attached to Kuropatkin's staff.

Trans-Caspia is no longer the terra incognito that it
was forty to fifty years ago, thanks to numerous travelers
and writers, among them our countryman, the war cor-
respondent, MacGahan. It consequently does not be-
hoove me, a mere skimmer, to attempt here much more
than the statement that our party traveled from Kras-
novodsk to Samarcand and back, and saw such places
as Geok-tepe, Merv, Bokhara and the River Oxus.
Geok-tepe in 1897 consisted principally of the frag-
ments left by Skobeleff and Kuropatkin after their

253

MY LIFE

forces had slaughtered some twenty-odd thousand Tur-
comans— men, women and children. The siege of the
fort lasted a full month, although the Turcomans had
anticipated forms of defense. Before the Russian cam-
paign against them was over Skobeleff had to begin the
present Trans-Caspian Railroad in order to keep in
touch with his base of supplies. Kuropatkin was his
chief of staff. They went to war with the natives with
the notion that one everlasting thrashing was imperative
to teach the Turcomans to knuckle under. The slaugh-
ter at Geok-tepe proved very instructive, the Turco-
mans of to-day being a foolish people — docile, at least,
so long as the Russians can continue to impress them.
Skobeleff is long since dead, and Kuropatkin, the other
" butcher," as he has been called, is under a cloud.

I had various glimpses and talks with this soldier, per-
haps the most interesting glimpse taking place at Aska-
bad during an outdoor religious service on St. George's
Day. The men in our party had to appear at this
service in dress suits early in the morning. The service
was accompanied by the usual Greek orthodox para-
phernalia and was interesting to those who had never
before been present on such occasion. What interested
me was the short, stocky general, standing bareheaded
on a carpet near the officiating priests. For one solid
hour he stood at " Attention," not a muscle in his body
moving that I could see. I made up my mind then (and
I have never changed it) that he was endowed with
stick-at-iveness to a remarkable degree — a fact bolstered
up by his persistency in the Manchurian retreats.

254

I MEET GENERAL KUROPATKIN

The most interesting interview I had with Kuropatkin
was, one morning, when the three correspondents, in-
cluding myself, were summoned to Government House
at Askabad and given an official reception. Kuropatkin
sat behind a large desk covered with pamphlets and offi-
cial papers. We correspondents were given three chairs
in front of the desk. The interpreter (Kuropatkin
spoke neither English nor German) stood at our left.

" And I want you to know," Kuropatkin went on,
after informing us somewhat about the Russian occupa-
tion of Trans-Caspia, " that our intentions here are
eminently pacific. We have land enough. Our desire
is to improve the holdings we now possess. You can
go all over Russian Central Asia unarmed." I thought
of Geok-tepe. No doubt Kuropatkin believed that that
butchery had cowed the natives for all time.

" Our desire here is economic peace and prosperity."

This was the upshot of his words, translated for us
by the interpreter. Was he telling the truth or not?
There was not a correspondent present who could have
answered this question.

My impression was that the man was trying to give
us an official version of the alleged truth, and that he
was proud of what he had been able to accomplish as an
administrative officer, after demonstrating his ability as
a human butcher. I have often since thought that, if
the Philippines are to be attended to quickly a la Russe,
Kuropatkin could do the job very neatly.

As a mere man shorn of his grand titles, I liked him
and didn't like him.

255

MY LIFE

I asked him if he remembered MacGahan, the Ameri-
can correspondent. He looked at me sharply, always
more or less as if he were still listening to that St.
George's Day sermon, and said: " It pleases me to hear
that name mentioned. I knew him well."

I asked the interpreter to ask him if he couldn't think
of an anecdote or two about MacGahan that I could
send to my paper. I realized that there was a sorry task
ahead of me writing about far-off Trans-Caspia — truly
terra incognito to most Americans — unless America
could be dragged into the story somehow. But Kuropat-
kin was not in the anecdotal mood. "When MacGahan
and I were together," he said, " there were too many
other things to think about and remember."

This is the upshot of my intercourse with Kuropatkin.
Had there not been something about the man and his
surroundings that took hold of my imagination this slim
report would not have been made here. Throughout
my journey in Trans-Caspia I thought of Genghis Khan
and Tamerlane. At Merv we were told that there, once
upon a time, Genghis had slaughtered one million peo-
ple. At Samarcand, we were shown Tamerlane's tomb.
As a modern representative of might and force Kuropat-
kin seemed to be an improved edition of Genghis and
Tamerlane. Whatever else he was, or was not doing,
he was plainly trying to experiment with civilization
before resorting to the sword. His schools, railroads
and agricultural experiments were all indicative of his
constructive ability. For this side of his character I
liked him.

256

I MEET GENERAL KUROPATKIN

I disliked his career in butchering, and I was not
pleased with his hard face. Nevertheless, there was
something so companionable and soldier-like in his part-
ing " Bonne Chance," when we bade him good-by, that,
for me, there was more in him to like than to scold
about. As regards the alleged five million rubles he is
supposed to have " grafted " in Manchuria, I can
merely say that he did not look like a thief to me.

257

CHAPTER XX

IN ST. PETERSBURG

A POLICE raid that I attended in St. Petersburg,
although not directly connected with any tramp
experience there, has remained memorable, and,
after all, was due to my interest in tramp lodging houses.
I explored the local vagabonds' resorts pretty carefully
during my investigations, visiting among others the noto-
rious Dom Viazewsky, the worst slum of the kind I
have ever seen anywhere. On a winter's night in 1896
(the conditions have not changed, I am told), 10,400
men, women and children slept in five two-story buildings
enclosed in a space about the size of a baseball diamond.
Only a hundred paces away is the Anitchkoff Palace.
The inmates of the Dom Viazewsky are the scum of the
city's population, diseased, criminal and defiant.

On one occasion, a woman belonging to the Salva-
tion Army was met in the dead of night by a police
sergeant and some patrolmen, as she was leaving the
most dilapidated of the buildings. She had been doing
missionary work.

" My God ! " the sergeant exclaimed, seeing her unat-
tended. " You in here alone? "

258

IN ST. PETERSBURG

" Oh, no, not alone, officer," the intrepid little woman
replied. " God is with me."

" Huh," the officer grunted. " I wouldn't come in
here alone with God for a big sum."

The raid which I attended was made on a smaller
lodging house, not far from the Alexander Nevsky mon-
astery. In a way, it was got up for my benefit, I fear,
and I was later very sorry about it all. The then chief
of detectives was a pleasant old gentleman, called Schere-
maityfbsky. I told him that it would interest me to see
how his men " worked," and he introduced me to a stal-
wart chap — I forget his name — who kindly offered to
show me how a suspicious place was raided.

We all foregathered first at the precinct station house
nearest the place of the raid, at about nine o'clock in the
evening. A Scotch friend accompanied me. Here were
the so-called detectives, or policemen, in citizens' clothes.
A squad of uniformed patrolmen had already been sent
on ahead to surround the lodging house and prevent any
departures. Pretty soon we followed after them in sin-
gle file, and I could hear passers-by on the sidewalk
whisper, " Polizie! Polizie!" The way they used the
word and stopped to stare at us might have given a
stranger the impression that we were on a portentous
mission, which might involve the arrest of the entire
city. Arriving at the lodging house, the gates were
closed behind us, and we assembled in a lower corridor,
where all hands received candles. The patrolmen out-
side forbade both entrance and escape.

Clumsily, the tallow from the candles dripping on our

259

MY LIFE

hands, we climbed the dingy stairway to the men's quar-
ters. A dismal lamp burned in the center of the room,
throwing a weird light over the awakened lodgers.
What a medley of humanity that vile-smelling room
contained ! Old men barely able to climb out of their
bunks; rough middle-aged ruffians, cowed for the
moment, but plainly full of vindictiveness and crime;
youngsters just beginning the city life and quaking
with fear at the unannounced visitation — never before
have I seen human bodies and rags so miserably
entangled.

The method of the raid was simple enough. Each
inmate was made to show his passport. If it was in
order, well and good; he could go to sleep again. But
if his papers were irregular, or, still worse, if he hadn't
any at all, below he went to join the others who were
guarded by the policemen. The worst that was found
that night I fancy were some hiding peasants, who had
run away from their villages and were loafing around
begging in the city. One poor old man took me for an
officer. I was passing around between the beds, holding
my candle high so that I could see the faces of the
lodgers. The old man — he must have been eighty —
held out a greasy scrap of paper, doubtless his passport,
and tried to tell me how little he had done in the world
that was wrong. There was an appealing look in his
faded, ancient eyes, like that in those of a mongrel who
would fain beg your mercy. I was glad to learn that
his papers were all right.

Later, the women's ward was also inspected. Here

260

IN ST. PETERSBURG

was practically the same bundle of human flesh and rags.
Like the men, the women had to identify themselves or
go to the station house. One young peasant girl lost
her head, or perhaps she could not read. She handed
the detective her pass confidently enough, but when he
asked her her name she gave a different one from that
on the passport.

" Go below, you little ignoramus," ordered the officer,
and below she went, obviously wondering why all names
were not alike — at least when it came to identification.

The inspection over, we returned to the room below
to count the " catch." Over a score had been drawn into
the net. They were lined up outside between two rows
of policemen, the candles were put out, and the inspector
gave the order to march. The weird, gloomy picture
they made in the dark, as they trudged forward in their
rags, is one that I do not care to see again. It seemed
to me then, and it seems to me now, that the scene told
the sad, sad truth about Russia.

" A nation on tramp," I murmured, as my friend and
I went on alone down the Nevsky.

An actual arrest is perhaps the most exciting adven-
ture I have to relate about my tramp experience in Rus-
sia. By rights the arrest should never have taken place,
but what do rights count for in Russia? It came about
in this fashion.

General Kleigels, at that time (1897) prefect of St.
Petersburg, had given me a general letter to the police
of that city, reading about like this: "The bearer of
this is Josiah Flynt, an American citizen. He is here,

261

MY LIFE

in St. Petersburg, studying local conditions. Under no
circumstances is he to be arrested for vagabondish con-
duct." The word " vagabondish " was the nearest Eng-
lish equivalent my friends could find for the Russian
word used; it was underscored by the general himself.
I was told by an American resident in Russia that with
such a letter in my possession I could almost commit
murder with impunity, but I succeeded in getting arrested
for a much less grave offense.

The actual tramping in the city was over, and I was
back in my own quarters again, cleaned up and respecta-
ble. One night, three of us, an Englishman, myself and
another American, started out to see the city on conven-
tional lines. My tramp experience had not revealed
much to me about the local night life, and I boldly took
advantage of the opportunity offered by the American's
invitation to see the town as he knew it. In the end,
there was not much to see that I had not looked at time
and again in other cities, but before the end came there
was a little adventure that proved very amusing. Dur-
ing our stroll together the Englishman, a diminutive
little chap who had just bought a new pot hat and
wanted everybody to know it, got separated from us.
We looked high and low up and down the street where
we had missed him, but he could not be found. We
were about to go to the police station and give an alarm,
when, as we were passing a rather dark stairway, who
should come shooting down it but the Briton, his hat
all battered in and his face bleeding.

" Look at my new Lincoln and Bennett, will you? '

262

IN ST. PETERSBURG

he snarled, on reaching the street. " Sixteen bob gone
to the devil! "

We asked him what the row had been about. He
didn't know. He merely remembered that he had gone
up the stairs and had been politely received at the door.
" I went into the parlor," he said, " called for drinks,
and sat down. After a while I thought it would be fun
to open my umbrella and hold it over my head. I guess
the light must have dazzled me. The next thing, I was
shooting down those stairs. They're bally quick here
with their bouncer, ain't they! "

The American was strong in Russian, and also stood
well with the police in his district, and he was deter-
mined that the proprietor of the establishment should
give an account of himself. While he and the English-
man went up the stairs I remained below in the street,
according to agreement, and called at the top of my voice
for a gvardovoi (policeman). Two dvorniks (gate-
keepers, but also police underlings) came running up,
and most obsequiously begged the gospodeen to tell them
what was the matter. Forgetting their police power, I
pushed one of them aside, declaring that I wanted a
patrolman and not a house porter. General Kleigels,
himself, could not have taken umbrage at my indiscretion
any more hot-headedly. The dvorniks reached for me
instantly, but I ran up the steps to get under the shelter-
ing wing of the American. The dvorniks followed me,
and there was a long, heated discussion, but in the end
I had to go to the police station, where I absolutely
refused to say a single word. The officer searched me,

263

MY LIFE

finding in one of my coat pockets the little Englishman's
card. He rubbed it on my nose, saying: " Vaschf
Vasch?" (Yours? Yours?) but I held my tongue
and temper. The man never looked into my hip pockets.
In one of them I had a well-filled cardcase, and in the
other might have carried a revolver.

He did not seem to know that hip pockets existed.
Pretty soon my companions joined me, and a long parley
ensued between my fellow-countryman and the officer.
Finally my valuables were returned to me, and I was
paroled in my friend's custody until I could produce
General Kleigels' letter. I did this that same day,
about three o'clock. It was plain to read in the officer's
face that the document gave him pause. It was probably
the first of the kind that he had ever handled, or that
General Kleigels had ever issued. But he had insulted
me, and knew it, and he apparently reasoned that mak-
ing any great ado over me or my letter would not help
matters if I intended to make him trouble. So, after
he had noted down the date and number of the letter,
he handed it back to me and pronounced me free to go
where I pleased. I shook hands with him, for some
strange reason, and I shall never forget the queer way
he looked at me and the manner he had of doubling two
fingers in his palm when taking mine. If this was meant
as a secret sign or signal, it was lost on me.

The wind-up of this little affair with the police was
more amusing than the arrest. Not long afterwards, in
company with the American Minister and a Scotch
friend, I went on a fishing and camping trip to Northern

264

IN ST. PETERSBURG

Finland. While we were in camp I received word that I
was wanted on a criminal charge in St. Petersburg, but
that there was " no need to worry about it." I pro-
ceeded leisurely with our party up to the Arctic Circle,
and then back to St. Petersburg, when I immediately
made inquiry of my house porter about the summons or
indictment. The porter laughed. " It was nothing,
sir, nothing," he assured me. " One week came the
indictment, and the next week the announcement of
your acquittal. It was a very simple matter."

I was sure that both proceedings could refer to noth-
ing more serious than the fracas with the dvorniks on
the night of my arrest, and I determined to learn what
had happened to my two friends, if anything. The
American I found at his datscha on one of the islands.

" Did you receive an announcement of your indict-
ment on a criminal charge? " I asked him.

" Yes," he said; " my crime was whistling in a police
station."

It seems that the officer in charge, anxious to have his
revenge on one of us, selected the resident American,
because he thought it best not to press any charge against
me and he was unable to locate the little Englishman.
The American had whistled unwittingly, and entirely by
way of exclamation. I recalled the incident. On the
fateful night, while he was pleading with the officer for
my release, the latter made several astounding state-
ments, and at one of them my friend could not repress a
slight whistle of amazement. I asked him how he came
out with the case.

265

MY LIFE

" Loser," he said. " I put the matter in the hands of
a lawyer, and he mussed things so that I was fined
twenty-five rubles. How did you make out? "

I told him of my acquittal. " There's Russia for
you," he declared. " You are at heart the technical
villain and go free. I, the poor Samaritan, am fined.
That's just about as much rhyme and reason as they
show in this country in everything they do."

" And the little Englishman," I asked, " the one who
really caused the entire trouble — where is he? "

" The last I heard of him he was out on one of the
Pacific Islands, having a fine time."

In such ways were spent some of my student days in
Europe. That I learned about Europe and its people
during these unconventional experiences as I never could
have learned about them had I spent all of my time in
libraries and the lecture room, seems to me undeniably
true. Some of my wanderings were, in all truth, a sub-
mission on my part to the all-demanding passion for
wandering. Yet, as they came along in connection with
my university studies, which kept my mind seriously
inclined, I think they did me more good than harm.
I learned to know England, Germany and Russia dur-
ing these trips. It was also a good thing for me to be
let loose every now and then into the jungle of Europe's
vagabond districts and then vent such lingering Wan-
derlust as my temperament retained.

Political economy as a more immediate field of ex-
ploration was at times neglected. Professors Schmoller
and Wagner were not listened to as attentively as they

266

IN ST. PETERSBURG

deserved to be. The German university idea of serious
work was frequently disregarded. Perhaps it is further-
more fair to say that in continuing, as at times I did,
my vagabondish explorations in Europe, I was assisting
in perpetuating roving habits. I can now solemnly
declare here that the real roaming habits of former days,
roaming habits in the sense that I was willing at any time
when Die Feme called, to put on my hat and chase after
her — received a complete chill during the European
vagabond life. That it will pay one who desires to
know Europe in the underground way, to make tramp
trips such as I did, and to get acquainted before they
leave home, with those millions of emigrants who come
to us from Europe, I firmly believe. Neglected though
my political economy was on many a journey, forgotten
though were many of the books, I am not sure that I
did not read my Europe, if not my political economy and
other bookish things, better than I could have done it in
written form.

Naturally during my tramp trips and experiences in
Europe I made use of them for purposes of newspaper
correspondence, magazine articles and incidentally for
the preparation of such a comprehensive book as I
thought I could write on tramp life in general. In this
way these wanderings may again be called useful, because
they helped to increase my powers of observation from
a writer's point of view, and to give a serious purpose to
such investigations on my part. I have no reason to
regret any tramp trip made in Europe, but I am glad
now that they are over and done with.

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MY LIFE

Such training in writing as the reporter gets on his
newspaper, I got on returning to my home in Berlin,
and having my " copy " most rigidly cut to pieces by my
mother.

Of course this was not newspaper training in the sense
that I had to report, and to a city editor. But it was
all the training I ever had in writing that amounted
to anything, until in after years I was interested enough
in the business to observe for myself, in such examples
of good writing as came to my hand, how, as Robert
Louis Stevenson indicates in one of his books, language
may be made to fit most tightly around the subject
matter in hand.

268

CHAPTER XXI

I RETURN TO AMERICA

IN the early spring of 1898 I made up my mind
once and for all that it was high time for me to
leave Europe and get back to my own country if
I ever intended to get to work with young men in my
profession, or in any other activity in which I might be
able to hold my own.

Europe had not palled on me — far from it ! To have
lingered on in Berlin, in Rome or in Venice would have
pleased me at that time, had I possessed the necessary
means to linger, wander and observe. Had I had finan-
cial independence and no sense of responsibility, I might
have been in Europe to-day as a resident.

In 1898 our country went to war with Spain. How
the rumors of war affected other young Americans study-
ing, traveling, or on business in Europe at that time, I
do not know. In me the rumors of war created an un-
controllable desire to return to my native land. Perhaps
I thought I could go to war in her defense. It is impos-
sible for me now to analyze, as I should like to do, my
determination in 1898 to get away from Europe, uni-
versity studies and all that the life abroad had meant
to me, just as quickly as possible. My mother was

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MY LIFE

aghast at this resolution on my part. She said to me :
" If you were going to China, Kamtchatka, Tibet or
almost any other place but America, I could easily think
it a very natural thing to do. But America ! I feel as
if I should lose all touch with you."

I suppose that my mother was fearful that on returning
to America I would also return to all the unpleasantness,
devilishness and lawlessness which I had pretty success-
fully run away from when I shipped as a coal-passer
in Hoboken in 1889, on the poor old steamship Elbe.
Furthermore, I think it not unlikely that my mother
herself had lived so long in Europe, and had been able
to keep such close track of me there, that she had a
notion that we were always to live in Europe, and that
there I must somehow win or lose. Then, again, there
is no doubt that it disappointed my mother very much
that I would not continue in the university and take my
degree.

But something impelled me on my course, and in
the spring of 1898 I said good-by to the university, to
Berlin, to Germany and to all Europe as places in which
I desired to cast my lot.

As a mere visitor, I have been back in Europe on
several occasions since 1898, but I have never regretted
my stubborn decision in that year to return to my country
and make it my abiding place.

In retrospect, it occurs to me, first of all, that the
general experience in Europe, on account of its prolonga-
tion, lost for me that personal touch with young men of
my own age who were making their way ahead in

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I RETURN TO AMERICA

America, and which accounts for so much in getting
into the swim of things, making those friends that avail
so much in business or in the professions — in a word,
in growing in your own community with your own peo-
ple. I stayed too long in Europe for my own good.

In 1898, in spite of the mysterious and uncontrollable
desire to get back to America, I was for months after
my arrival in New York the most Europe-homesick per-
son imaginable. Whom did I find that knew me? Only
a few friends settled there who had been at my mother's
home in Berlin, or that I had met during my travels. I
did not know one of them in any business capacity here,
and not one of them had been acquainted with me in any
of my American homes. I had got acquainted with them
in Europe, " on the march," so to speak.

I think it unfortunate that a boy or young man should
linger so long in lands far removed from his own, when,
in the end, he usually must try to amount to something.

It is again that question of camping, which I referred
to in an earlier part of my story, which is preeminently
noticeable in all such American colony life abroad as I
have observed. The colonies are for the most part
nothing but camps, the colonists being only too obviously
mere birds of passage.

I do not believe it is a good thing for a young man,
whose life is afterwards to be taken up again in his
native land, to spend so much time out of it as I did.
I lost touch with my home generation; I spent the most
formative years of my life in countries where, as it
proved, I was not to live and make my way; I got into

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MY LIFE

lackadaisical ways of looking at things, and I fell to
thinking that living in bachelor quarters on five hundred
dollars a year would be an enviable achievement.

Yet Europe, and particularly Germany, also did me
a certain good for which I must always be grateful. I
have already hinted at some of the benefits which I think
I appreciated at the time of their bestowal, and have
learned never to forget. I must certainly thank Europe
for a quieting effect on my fiery unwillingness to see inex-
orable truths as they must be seen sooner or later. I
must also thank Europe for some most delightful friends
and acquaintances. But where are they now? The
great majority are scattered no doubt all over the world,
only a few remaining in my own country for me to
enjoy. This is the pathos of the whole business as I
have been through it.

272

CHAPTER XXII

NEW YORK AGAIN

TAKING up life anew in New York City, after
many years abroad, is not an easy game. In
my case it was particularly disagreeable, be-
cause for a while I had a homesick feeling for Europe,
and I suppose for my particular house in Berlin. I
shall never forget the uncomfortable feeling I had while
my ship was docking as to the outcome of myself and
my affairs in this new country — my country, it is true,
but to me a country which I knew very little about from
the beginner's point of view. That I was a beginner,
psychologically and financially, is pretty plain from what
I have before said.

I had one consolation. It was a letter from L. F.
Loree, then general manager of the Pennsylvania lines
west of Pittsburg, asking me to go to Pittsburg and see
him on a matter of business, the nature of which his let-
ter did not reveal. There had been a previous letter
from this gentleman, received in Stettin, Germany, just
as I was sailing for St. Petersburg, suggesting a meet-
ing in Pittsburg. This was a number of weeks before
my final departure from Germany for the United States.

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MY LIFE

At that particular time I did not give the letter its due
attention. Russia seemed still to hold out promises
which I thought more attractive than those located in
other parts of the world.

On arriving in New York City in 1898, with fifty
dollars in my pocket and no more in sight, I naturally
bethought myself of the letter received from Mr. Loree.
I notified him of my modest home-coming, and said
that I would be glad to hear more about the business
for me that he had in mind. His reply was to the effect
that I should meet him in Pittsburg, and would there
learn about the matter which he was minded to take up
with me. I spent three days in New York City at the
home of a friend. During this time I was " put up '
at a certain club by a friend whom I had learned to
know through the writing business. At this club I met
various editors, writers, and, I suppose, publishers. I
was so elated with my sudden elevation into club stand-
ing in the writing business in New York City, that I
immediately went back from the club to the home of
my host, and told him in glee what a fine beginning I
had made. Neither he nor his wife seemed to care
very much for my sudden rise in the literary world in
New York, via the club end of it. I remember that they
looked at each other very significantly on my telling
them with happiness how I had been so happily received
by the writers' craft.

That look made it very pleasant for me to consider
other pastures, and the invitation to proceed to Pitts-
burg was accepted with alacrity. Arriving there, I had

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NEW YORK AGAIN

a few of my fifty dollars left. But there was no imme-
diate prospect of their remaining in my pocket.

It is not always easy, even though invited to meet
him and expecting to meet him, to find the general mana-
ger of a railroad. In my case, what happened? I
found my man out on the road, seeing to it that certain
repairs were made, and that he personally should
know that they were made quickly, and that I must
wait a while, perhaps two or three hours, perhaps
longer. Pittsburg and its gloom did not make any
plainer to me, during this waiting spell, what I was
in Pittsburg for. I remember that I went to a hotel,
and tried to write an article on that poor miserable crea-
ture, the Russian workingman. In the course of a few
hours I was notified by telegram that I was to proceed
to where the repairs were being made, and there make
the general manager's acquaintance. I followed out
these instructions, and I learned to know a man to whom
I am indebted for my start in life at home after those
wonderland years in Europe and Asia. I remember that
I met my benefactor in a signal tower where he was
patiently waiting for confirmation that his instructions
had been carried out. I remember how he looked at me.
No chief of police has ever " sized me up " the way
that general manager did. He looked into my person-
ality as it is not pleasant to have any one's personality
looked into, unless he believes that he is doing the right
thing. This is only a small incident in our acquaintance,
but I have never forgotten it.

Before long the repairs were completed, the required

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MY LIFE

confirmation of instructions delivered was received, and
Mr. Loree and I returned to Pittsburg in his car. On
the car not a word was said about the business that he
had in mind, and I was careful enough not to disturb a
man who had probably attended to ten things to my
one during that day.

In Pittsburg, after supper at the club, we went to the
theater and there saw a light play. Naturally, I could
not help guessing about the business that the general
manager had in mind for me. The play over, we re-
turned to the club, and there, for the first time, I learned
what the gentleman wanted.

As I remember his words now, he said to me: " The
tramp trouble in the United States has interested me as
a railroad man. I take it that it has interested you
temperamentally and, perhaps, as a student of economics.

" It occurred to me, on taking hold of this railroad
property as a general manager, that I would see whether
I could not help to eliminate the tramp trouble for the
railroad as well as for the public. It was not a question
in my mind about the possibility of the tramp being as
bad a man as some have painted him, nor was it the
question of doing the honest but unfortunate and penni-
less train-rider an injury. The thing I had in mind to
do, and have tried to do, was to clear the property
intrusted to my hands of that riffraff population which
has been infesting American railroads for so many years.

" I feel like this. Taken any way you like it, a rail-
road in a State is one of its biggest citizens. My posi-
tion as general manager did not call upon me to exercise

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NEW YORK AGAIN

the theoretical notion of a railroad's position as a citizen
in a State. Nevertheless, I said to myself: ' If I clean
up my property as regards this riffraff population I am
possibly contributing to the fulfillment of my citizen-
ship.' "

At these words I looked at my possible employer
pretty carefully. I have never had any reason to believe
that as a citizen he has not struggled to do what, in his
mind, seemed to be the right thing. He then and there
made an impression upon me which I shall never for-
get. Mind you, I had just come over to this country.
It was my business to find something that would make
money for me as soon as possible. Mind you, I had
gone to a man who knew and managed thirty thousand
men.

He said to me: " What I wish you would do is to go
over the property under my management, and make such
a report as you see fit about the tramp conditions."

I said to him: "What do you think that will be
worth? "

He said : " Well, what do you think it will be
worth? "

I needed the money, there was not much more in
sight at that time, whether I went on tramp or not any-
how, and I replied: "Well, I suppose that ten dollars
a day would be an even price."

The general manager replied: "I think that's fair.
I suppose you know how to proceed? "

" I think that I can get back in the old line without
much trouble," I returned.

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MY LIFE

The general manager said: " Go ahead, and find out
whatever you can. Whether the police force that I have
instituted has been successful or not in stopping the
tramp evil, I do not know. I say that I do not know
because I cannot possibly be personally on every spot,
covering five States, including thirty thousand men. It
is pretty hard to keep track of all that you order to be
done. I am speaking to you purely from the point of
view of a railroad manager. It's pretty hard to run a
railroad as you would like to have it run. This tramp
business, this riffraff, this slum population that I find on
my lines is, of course, a detail in the work that has been
set before me.

" In my endeavor to keep my lines as clean as possi-
ble, not only as a citizen, but also as a railroader, I have
tried to build up a railroad police. The States through
which my lines run protect me only incidentally. I find
that when your friends, the tramps, are arrested by town
or village officials they are easily turned loose. I
wanted to know how the situation could be changed,
and I proceeded to look into the matter. The result
was that I made up my mind that the railroad company
must protect itself. I found that certain men, called
detectives, were, at times, endeavoring to keep tramps
off trains on our lines. I found, furthermore, that these
men, or detectives, were not attending to their duty as
I believe it should be attended to.

" Consequently I got to wondering how this matter
could be better attended to. I looked over the expense
accounts for police purposes, and found that our people

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NEW YORK AGAIN

were paying what seemed to me an exorbitant sum for
very poor service. It seemed to me that police matters
on a railroad, on account of the negligence on the part
of villages and towns, should be organized and given a
standing, which, on account of our lackadaisical pro-
cedure against crime in this country, was justified.

" You will find on our property a certain number of
qualified policemen. Perhaps I should say ' patrolmen.'
We do not use the word detective on this property.
They are divided up according to divisions, and the
moral deportment of the different communities in which
they are placed. My idea has been to try to police our
property just as a city is policed.

" What I should like to have you do is to go over our
property and see whether our police force has been
successful in ridding our lines, and, to some extent, the
communities which they touch, from tramp immigration.
How do you feel about the matter? "

Here was a problem which led right back into all
that land of Wanderlust which I supposed that I had
given up in so far as it applied to tramp life. However,
as so many well-known people say: " Beggars cannot be
choosers," I undertook the job of finding out for the
general manager exactly what the tramps had to say
about his lines as protected by his police. Eighteen
years before this interview, the general manager's lines,
to my own knowledge, were so littered up with tramps,
and tramp camps that the Fort Wayne road in particular
then was known as an " easy " road to beat between
Chicago and Pittsburg. It was as bad as the Baltimore

279

MY LIFE

and Ohio Railroad, which in those days was called
" The Dope."

These roads were ridden promiscuously by all kinds
of men, women and children who did not pay fare.
When they got into a box car they thought much non-
sense. The things that were done and said among all
these people at that time would make too scandalizing
reading now. If there are slums in our cities, there are
no greater slums anywhere in the world, barring no
crime, passion, or idiosyncracy, than were found on the
" Dope " and the Fort Wayne roads in my tramp days.

I looked over the general manager's property.
Dressed as a tramp, acting as a tramp, living and sleep-
ing as a tramp, I surrounded his lines until I knew what
the tramp world had to say about his railroad police
idea. I found wherever I went, in Cleveland, Chicago,
Cincinnati, Wheeling, or Pittsburg, that tramps said :
" There are easier roads to beat than the Fort Wayne."

It was hard work to go back into tramp life. I had
some hard knocks, as regards storms and other misad-
ventures in various places. Yet, with it all, it brought
back to me a number of remembrances of earlier tramp
days.

At the end of one month on the " Road " I went to
the general manager and told him that I had no desire
to ride his trains — that there were so many other trains
and roads that were easier. I believed that, in order to
complete my investigations, if he cared to have me pro-
ceed further, I should have a pass, good on every mova-
ble thing that he had on his property. We discussed this

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NEW YORK AGAIN

matter in some detail. Eventually, the general mana-
ger consented to my proposition, and I was given a pass,
good over all his lines, and I had with me the moral
support of his position.

I tackled the tramp problem from a new point of
view. It was my privilege to ride on practically every
passenger train, every freight train, and on all engines
that it should be my fate to meet. The general manager
also gave me a letter instructing his employees to let me
pass. I now know that it puzzled the general manager's
police force to comprehend my compromising position
on the road. The police force said: "Who is this
young fellow out here looking us up? "

I was called to order one night, in Ohio, by a captain
of the newly instituted police force, for riding on a
caboose of a freight train. I was getting off the caboose
to find out about something which was a matter of detail
at the time, and had got back to the steps of the caboose,
when the captain stepped up to me and said: "What
are you doing on this train?" I looked at him. He
looked at me. We then and there decided that there
was no particular disagreement between us. But I have
to say that during the second month of my investigations
for the general manager, his police force could not make
out why I was on the property with all my credentials,
and my confusing diminutive form and face. One of my
best, friends to-day, who was then at the head of the
police, was interested in my proceedings.

As an illustration of how men keep track of each
other, he had his men keep track of me. At the same

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MY LIFE

time, I think he must have realized that our superior
officer was behind such an errand as I was on. He had
the good sense to say to himself: " Well, if that is the
Boss's work, I'd better leave it alone." But he kept his
men looking out for me, which is only human nature.

One of the experiences that I had during this second
month in the interests of railroading, so far as its traffic
applies to tramps, occurred in Ohio. During my ex-
traordinary privileges as a railroading tramp, and with
all my credentials from the general manager's office, I
picked up a freight train going west of Mansfield, Ohio,
upon which I nevertheless found myself in difficulties.
I saw three tramping negroes on this train. I saw them
get on the train — largely a coal train so that one could
see from the caboose window exactly what was going on
— and went after them, car after car full of coal, until
I reached the biggest of the three. The train was going
at the rate of about twenty miles an hour. I snatched
the hat of the biggest one that I could see and said, with
some reminiscences in mind, I must confess: " You have
your nerve with you, riding on this road. Hit the
gravel."

The negro looked up at me, as if all the majesty of the
law had been suddenly invested in my humble person,
and said, with a truly pathetic tramp touch: " Cap, the
train is going a little too hard." He received back his
hat, and he and his two companions were asked by me,
in no uncertain terms, to leave the train at a certain
siding.

I made up my mind that those three negroes should

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NEW YORK AGAIN

get no train leaving the siding — a resting place for
tramps, and for trains that needed coal and steam to go
farther on. I went to the signal tower and telegraphed
east and west for an officer to get to the signal tower in
question and arrest the trespassers as soon as possible.
This may seem a hard thing for a man to do, who had
been through what I had. But I was responsible to the
general manager of that property. I was also respon-
sible to my own idea of integrity, and I believed in my
inmost soul that it was the thing to do.

The negroes wanted to fight me. I was carrying a
toothbrush at the time. While at the coaling station the
negroes lingered around and made every effort to catch
every freight train that was going out their way. I
rode every one of these going in their direction to within
about one hundred yards of their waiting place. Finally,
the last " run," as they well knew, had gone. As I
dropped off the last freight train that they were not swift
enough to catch, I walked toward them, and was greeted
with these words: " Do you think you run this road?
If you do, you'll get a bullet hole through you so soon
that you won't know what struck you."

I thought of my toothbrush as the only weapon I had.
I thought also of the willingness on the part of those
negroes to revenge themselves, and I thought still more
closely about the distance between where I stood and the
coaling station. It so happened that my bluff went. I
said to the negroes : " If there is any shooting to be done
here I'll begin it." The negroes left me alone, and I
left them alone. I could not, however, get over the idea

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MY LIFE

that they had infringed on my territory as investigator,
police officer, or anything else that you want to call it.
The result of the experience was that the police officer
that I had telegraphed for toward the east appeared at
the coaling station as soon as he could, and that we
rode on together to the next village. There I said to
him: " I think we will catch those negroes not very far
away from here." He picked up the town marshal
and away we went down the track to find those negroes.
We found them.

Dusk was just coming on, and they were sitting along-
side the track. The policeman from the east drew his
revolver, went up to them, and said, much to their sur-
prise: " I place you under arrest." The negroes wilted,
and all of us went to the station house of the nearest
village. They were given an immediate hearing. They
said that they had not been seen on any train, other than
a passenger train on which they had paid their fares,
during all the years of their existence. The justice said:
" Do you suppose that that man is going to come here
and tell me that he saw you on a certain freight train
when he didn't see you on that freight train? "

One of the negroes replied: " I never saw that man
before in my life." This was the man whose hat I had
taken when I told him to get off the train. The justice
gave all three a thirty-day sentence to the Canton Work-
house. The next morning, the negroes were prisoners
of the local authorities. By these local authorities they
were handcuffed, put on a train, and started for their
destination. Foolishly, I not only followed them in

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NEW YORK AGAIN

Canton, but I went up with them, in the street car, to
the workhouse. During that ride I heard all the hard
things that can possibly be said about any one.

This experience and my participation in it may not
seem so very creditable to one who had himself been a
tramp. But what did I learn about those negroes?
They had been employees of a circus, had got drunk and
into a row, and had left their positions as circus men.
So far as I have been able to make out, they had no right
to have a free ride anywhere.

This is merely one of the incidents that fell to my lot
during the second month. Of course there were many
others, which interested me at the time, to think over,
but which would not interest the reader.

The main thing I learned to believe in and expect in
my general manager was a great efficiency. All through
my tramp experiences at his request, I found, even in
tramp life, that the great thing is getting there and doing
something. My report to him about the general ability
of the police force, which he and his subordinates had got
together for the purpose of completely ridding the prop-
erty of the tramp nuisance, was that I thought he had
at least got the Fort Wayne road so cleaned up, in that
respect, that no " respectable " tramp would ride on it.
In making this report I said to the general manager:
" They are stealing coal on the Lake Shore Railroad.
There is a man who told me that on the Lake Shore Rail-
road every twentieth train, before it gets forty miles out
of Buffalo, gets dug into." On that same expedition for
the general manager I ran up against two tramp camps

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MY LIFE

at the end of one of the " Short Lines " at Ashtabula.
My interest at that time was not to disturb either camp
at all. I went down to the Lake Shore Railroad, toward
their coal chutes, and there I found two camps. The
fires of these were being bountifully supplied by coal
taken from the adjoining railroad company. My posi-
tion was peculiar. Tramps, and criminals for that mat-
ter, do not like to have any one approach what they
believe to be their property. I went to one of the camps,
and sat down on a railroad tie. Pretty soon a person
of unquestionable importance in his own tramp line, said
to me: " Have you a match? "
11 I think I have. I'll see."

" If you find one, go over and build your own fire."
I did so, and was left more or less in peace.

286

CHAPTER XXIII

RAILROAD EXPERIENCES

4T that time there was a collection of men, called
/-\ the " Lake Shore Push." These men thought
-*- ■*- that they had the Lake Shore Railroad in their
hands, from the criminal end of it, or, perhaps, I should
say, the hold-up end of it. Their history is a matter
hard to explain. They had been known on or about the
Lake Shore Railroad, to my knowledge, for twenty
years easily.

They are worth while considering in a paragraph or
two as showing how criminal " mobs " are made up.

The Lake Shore Railroad for some reason or other
has been infested with box-car robbers, hold-up men, for
about the number of years suggested. For some rea-
son, the Lake Shore gang found it convenient to organ-
ize itself in so far as organization is possible in criminal
life. Criminals of different types got together, and said:
" We will run this road as we think it should be run
according to our ways of looking at things." The man-
agement of the road had nothing to say that was of
any use.

So the Lake Shore gang proceeded, and robbed cars,
even threw a steer off a car when it wanted to hold a

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MY LIFE

barbecue, held up the polite Ohio politician beating his
way to the extent of forty cents, had all those plants
supposed to be between Buffalo and Chicago, and gener-
ally made themselves a criminal nuisance.

The Lake Shore gang consisted of the following
types: the desperate laboring man(?)who is willing to
grapple with your throat on account of a dollar or
two — I mean the hold-up man that you hear so much
about in the Middle West; the discouraged criminal who
knew that he was discouraged, but thought he might
possibly, under spurious cover, get a " stake " on pro-
fessionally criminal lines ; the hard-up man who was led
along by the other conspirators in the game ; the boy of
eighteen, who had made some miserable mistake in his
home, had to get away from that home, and had fallen
into the hands of scheming men; and the woman of the
street who had her reasons for knowing anything about
the Lake Shore gang. The Lake Shore gang, it can be
said, grew out of the idea that when you can be imposed
upon, you will stand for it. What they are doing now
I do not know. It may be that they are amusing them-
selves as in days of old. All I want to say here is that
this was the company I had good chances of falling in
with when striking the general manager's terminals on
the lakes. The Lake Shore Railroad and the Nickel
Plate, as it was called, took up the full responsibility of
all tramp nonsense after certain department heads had
done their best to relieve both of these roads of pro-
nounced deficiencies and crimes.

As I have said, I found that, at Ashtabula, the tramps

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RAILROAD EXPERIENCES

were burning up the Lake Shore Company's coal, the
Nickel Plate Company's coal — put the two together and
call them the Vanderbilt lines if you like — and that the
Lake Shore gang were robbing people right and left on
every freight train that went over the Vanderbilt lines.
I found also that the Vanderbilt lines did not pay the
slightest respect to the protection of their patrons, as
regards pickpockets and other gentry of that character,
on their passenger trains, otherwise than by employing
a man who feverishly ran up and down their territory —
let us say between Toledo and Cleveland — took his
lunches where he could buy them for from ten to twenty-
five cents, and tried to carry out the whole game for the
Vanderbilt interests between the points mentioned. This
man was supposed to be the police force of that district.
The reason he took so many quick lunches is because
he had too much to do. In some ways, I believe that
he tried to serve the Vanderbilt interests. But no man
can cover such a district, if he be all alone — as it is
alleged that he was — and attend to all of the details that
will come up in police life on the Vanderbilt lines or on
any other line.

This man I did not meet. I heard about him, from
time to time, taking hungry lunches on the Lake Shore
trains, passenger and freight.

This man, so far as the public is concerned, passenger
or freight, did no more to protect the public than does
a mosquito in New Jersey when it tries mercenary inten-
tions upon an innocent suburbanite. In my opinion, the
Lake Shore Railroad, in its employ of this one man to

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MY LIFE

cover so much territory, did not honestly stand up as a
citizen in our United States.

My employer, the general manager, had in mind
something else.

He is the man, who, when the Johnstown flood oc-
curred, built the railroad bridge over the turbulent river
in twenty-four hours. In saying that he built it, I mean
that he knew how to get men to help him build it.

The same determination that he had in building that
bridge, the same character, came out in his determination
that his railroad line, so far as he could effect it, must be
free of the riffraff population which was disturbing it.
So he organized a police force and therewith proceeded
to take care of that riffraff population. He did it to a
nicety. He put a man at the head of it whose name I
shall mention later on. He got hold of this man through
the Pinkerton National Detective Agency.

The big fellow went into the game prepared to fight
his particular game to a finish. The general manager
sat off and wondered.

The whole world knows, more or less, the history of
the Pullman strike. It was a strike fought, perhaps,
with certain rightful labor interests in view. It was a
strike, however, which was as cruel as any that has been
known in this country. It was a mean thing on the
part of employer, and on the part of employees. The
wonder is that there was not more bloodshed. Men
who undertake what the strikers of the Pullman Com-
pany did undertake, are most certainly considering trou-
ble in its worst features. However they went ahead,

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RAILROAD EXPERIENCES

as a last forgiveness, they asked the sympathy of the
public and were by the mercy of the then considerate,
all-wise, all-grasping Pullman Company, turned over to
the mercies of the United States Government troops.

General Miles appeared in Chicago with his troops.

He was approached by the general manager, and
asked this question : " What are your troops out here for
if they are not going to stop the ruin of our property? "

" That is my business," said General Miles.

" True enough, but they are burning up my cars, and
so far as I can see, your troops are not doing one thing
to defend United States property."

Again General Miles replied that what he was doing
was wholly within his province. The general manager
did not attempt to indicate to General Miles that his
line of business conflicted with the general's.

Here were two men, both of them masters in their
own lines. Mr. Cleveland had ordered the United
States troops to Chicago. General Miles had nothing
else to do but to obey. He went to Chicago with his
troops. There was no shooting done. The question is,
whether there should not have been some shooting done.
Labor in this country has arrived at a point where it is
so arrogant that it must be shot at. If it thinks that
trade unionism will protect it, it is much deceived.

I must tell a story of something that happened dur-
ing the Pullman strike at Chicago.

A big man thought that he could proceed against one
of the regulars. He started to do so. The regular said
to him: " You must keep off this property."

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MY LIFE

The big man said : " Huh ! You don't run the whole
world."

The regular said: " Get off this property, or I will
make trouble for you."

The big man said : " Huh ! You have another guess
coming."

The regular said: " Get off this property quick."

The big man seemed to want to linger, and the regu-
lar went after him with his bayonet and struck him where
he understood that he had received his due attention.

The strike was finished. Millions of dollars had been
lost. The general manager returned to his ordinary
business, and settled down to ordinary work again.

General Miles doubtless retired to his retreat.

There is a point to be made here about the efficiency
of the militia and the regulars. What did the militia
do during all this unfortunate experience? Not
enough to let an ordinary suburban train go on its
quiet way. Mr. Grover Cleveland saw the necessity
of immediate protection for the United States mail,
and ordered the regulars to Chicago. The regulars,
merely by their presence, did more than the whole
militia of the State of Illinois could have done or would
have done. The militia are too afraid of shooting
brothers and sisters. The regulars are soldiers, and obey
the commands. My friend, the general manager, later
on had to take care of the body of President McKinley.
What did he do? The special train was there, the
special policemen were there, and the special orders were
there. President McKinley's body went to Washington

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RAILROAD EXPERIENCES

with as cleverly appointed a bodyguard as one can ordi-
narily find. Poor man, he lay in his coffin not caring
whether he was protected or not. A man stood on the
front of the train, a man was on a middle platform, a
man was on the rear end, and one or two men were inside.
So this man was taken home, guarded by Democrats,
and I think Socialists in theory.

This is what the general manager of a road did to get
an assassinated President to the National Capital. It
was only a small courtesy, because the man was dead.
But it was one of those courtesies which can never be
forgotten by a man's friends, and by any whom we have
taken an interest in. To have done this thing efficiently
was something worth doing. There are people who,
to-day, think that they can rob the tomb of Lincoln.
They tried it not so very long ago. Their intentions
were most completely balked.

To frustrate people who might try to do any injury to
a President of the United States while in transit over
his road strikes me as being a highly creditable proceed-
ing on the part of any general manager.

During my acquaintance with the general manager I
learned to know his then chief of police, Mr. C. E.
Burr. Mr. Burr had kept track of me during my inves-
tigations for the general manager, but had not made
any particular effort to locate me. He knew his men
pretty well, he knew his idea of railway police organiza-
tion pretty well, and, after that, believing that he was
giving a square deal to his employer, he did not care who
was looking over his territory.

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MY LIFE

More about Mr. Burr, whom I have to thank for my
first genuine introduction to graft and its practitioners.
Without him and his assistance I could have hardly
gotten so quickly into this subject.

My report to the general manager delivered, after
two months of pretty hard work, I returned to New
York City to take up the next promising thing that came
to hand.

294

CHAPTER XXIV

TRYING TO LIVE BY MY PEN

4S I have said, my friends and acquaintances in New
/-\ York were comparatively few at the start. As
**■ -*- I hark back over the beginning year in that city
I do not believe that I knew intimately more than six
men, and they, like myself, were also beginners so far as
New York was concerned. Strangely enough nearly
every one of us came from somewhere in the West, a
fact which leads me to ask whether in such a city as
New York Westerners, Southerners and Easterners do
not inevitably drift together through some strange law?
Certainly that little coterie of young men of which I had
the honor to be a part, came together, for better or for
worse, unannounced, not caring whom they met and yet
pushed on by circumstances to band together as West-
erners.

We were called the Griffou push. Nearly every
member of this organization was a writer of some kind,
or intended to be. Perhaps I was the first of the original
intimates in this little gathering to take up residence at
the Griffou Hotel in Ninth Street, which for several
years was our regular rendezvous and from which we
got our corporate appellation. I began to live there

295

MY LIFE

almost immediately after my preliminary work for the
Pennsylvania Company. There was something quaintly
foreign about the place at that time that satisfied my
soul, and it was located in the Washington Square neigh-
borhood, which will never be outdone in my affections
by any other in New York. Although I have lived all
over the city, somehow on leaving the ferry, coming
back to New York on a journey, my steps naturally turn
toward lodgings near the Washington arch. I think that
several of the other young men have always felt likewise
about this locality. Anyhow, here I began my fight for
a place in the city's business. I have said that we were
writers, or rather aspirants for distinction, as such.
Why all of us should have picked out this activity as the
one in which we thought we could do best I can hardly
explain. That we were overweaningly literary on first
coming together does not seem to me to be the case.
One or two had written what were called academic essays
at the time, but none, I think, had done much money-
making writing. For some reason — perhaps it looked
like the easiest thing to do — we all threw our lot in
with that army of men and women in New York who
try to make their living with their pens.

I tried first for a position as a police reporter. I
thought that if my experience and training had prepared
me to write about anything in a big city they had fitted
me for reportorial work as an observer in police and
criminal circles. My ambition in this direction came to
nothing. I honestly tried for the position in question
on several newspapers, but the editors did not see their

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TRYING TO LIVE BY MY PEN

way clear to be enthusiastic about my ability. For
several years after starting out in New York I continued
to annoy editors with my notions on their police report-
ing, but without avail. As I had once been ambitious
to be foreign correspondent, and thought that with per-
severance I could fill the bill, so, during the years that I
begged to be made a police reporter, another disappoint-
ment and chagrin had to be jotted down in my note-
book. Perhaps it is just as well now that I did not suc-
ceed in my efforts with the editors along these lines.
But whether this be so or not I propose here, in what is
my own book and nobody else's, to give a short outline
of what I believe police reporting could be developed into
if undertaken seriously.

In late years I have become convinced that that daily
newspaper which will keep a careful record of criminal
goings on in this country — not locally, but taking in all
of the country that it can cover — doing this day after
day conscientiously, presenting to the public the criminal
facts about ourselves as we make them — will be doing a
work which will make its police reporting invaluable and
will earn for it the grateful thanks of all students of
crime.

In a way I have in mind for a daily record of the
nation's crime, the presentation of our annual crime as
found in the Chicago Tribune when it makes up our
debit and credit account along these lines. It seems to
me perfectly feasible for a newspaper to gather the daily
news in the criminal world, so far as it should be given
to the public, in as interesting and as useful a way as that

297

MY LIFE

of the Tribune and certain other newspapers. I firmly
believe that it would do good for us to see ourselves just
as we are in the criminal looking-glass every morning
of the year, not excepting Sundays. Statistics, quiet ac-
counts of crimes committed, anecdotes, illustrative inci-
dents proving no theories, but merely making graphic
the volume of crime in our midst and its intensity — all
these factors would probably have to come into the
scheme I have in mind. The essential factor, however,
must be that inexorable display of our criminality as a
people. There is no gainsaying the fact that we are all
ready, or are soon going to be, if jail and court records
tell the truth, the most criminally minded nation on
earth. This is not a pleasant fact or prospect. The
function of the police reporter, as I understand it, should
be to keep this forlorn state of affairs ever present in our
minds until we wake up and say that this can no longer
be. Such a man, if he does his work well, is deserving
of as high a salary as his managing editor. High crime
in the United States is one of the most appalling prob-
lems staring us in the face and demanding a solution.
The description of it, its awful significance, its menacing
proportions — these things are not yet treated daily, as
they ought to be, by any newspaper known to me.

To all this there are those who will reply: " But our
children read the newspapers, our mothers, wives and
sisters read them. Why increase the criminal copy in
the papers which must go into our homes? Why not
suppress as much as possible all reference to what is
criminal and sinful? "

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TRYING TO LIVE BY MY PEN

My reply to these queries is that crime has become
such a part of our national character that it is high time
that we have a criminal thermometer indicating to us
honestly and fairly our criminal feverishness. The
police reporter as here considered may be likened unto
the orderly in our hospitals, who puts a thermometer
somewhere in or about us and attempts to determine our
physical temperature. The orderly comes to us regu-
larly, according to the physician's orders throughout the
day; and at night, or on the following morning, the
attending physician receives an accurate report of how
our pulse has beaten for twelve or twenty-four hours, as
the case may be.

I throw out the suggestion that our well-trained police
reporter acquainted with police conditions and police
departments, should be able to tell us every night and
morning how we are getting along as criminals and as
citizens of the republic, with our welfare at heart.

But to return to the Griffou push and to those early
years of struggle with editors and what-not. Perhaps the
finest sensation I experienced during those years was
found in weekly trips to Park Row, usually to the Sun
office, where I handed in my bill for space and collected
such money as was due me. I shall never forget how
proud I was one Saturday, when, with seventeen dollars'
space money in my inside pocket, I strolled back to
Ninth Street, through the Bowery — or the Lane, as
" Chuck " Conners prefers to call it. I remember pass-
ing a dime museum. That old boyish fever to see the
animals and the wheels go round came over me. It is

299

MY LIFE

impossible to tell now how much the visit to this miracu-
lous institution cost me. I do recall, however, that on
arriving later on at the haunt of the Griffou push my
seventeen dollars were in a strangely dilapidated state.
I have never seen several of them since this experience,
but on looking back upon it I cannot say that I regret
their loss. To be able on a Saturday night to foregather
with the push and tell a story about how you had been
" done " in the Lane or elsewhere caused much merri-
ment, and I think healthy criticism. As beginners in
the great city, as strugglers fighting to make our way,
as men who knew that the years were passing by alto-
gether too rapidly — who does not feel this way, say
after thirty? — we were decidedly critical of one another,
and were very prone to tell an alleged delinquent mem-
ber of our company what we thought he ought to do to
make a success of himself. But, after all, we were
youngsters in spirit and temperament, and were far
more given to laughing at our gatherings than to
moping or solemnizing.

It hardly seems fair for me to mention here the names
of the others in this aggregation, although I would be
inclined to say only friendly things of them. Our origi-
nal four, as the Griffou push was constituted as far as
I am concerned, have remained staunch friends, if not
boys, to this day. Later the push developed into a
larger collection of men, and I am sorry to say that some
of these newcomers have passed on into another world.

The men that I began with I will call Hutch, Alfred
and Morey. Morey now owns an automobile, and,

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TRYING TO LIVE BY MY PEN

when I send him copy, is in a powerful position to turn
said copy down. Hutch is writing books, and every
now and then writes us how glad he is that the days of
the push are no more and that he can bask under the
Italian sun in his own righteousness. Alfred has become
a literary philosopher and thinks that beginning in New
York, as we did, looks better at a distance.

301

CHAPTER XXV

WITH THE POWERS THAT PREY

IT has been my experience, and I suppose that of
most men, that the attainment of a purpose is
always accompanied by a touch of disappointment,
weariness of spirit, even disgust, and such is in propor-
tion to the amount of effort that has been put forth in
order to attain. This, by the way, is but one of the
penalties that Wanderlust imposes on those who listen
to and obey its compelling call. I know whereof I speak,
you must remember. Time and again when reaching
the goal appointed by my vagabond instincts I have had
a mauvais quatre d'heure of it when trying to overcome
this reaction of thought and feeling that was sure to set
in and last for a longer or shorter period, according to
what lay ahead of, or around me. At such junctures,
do what I would, there came the insistent queries:
" Well, and what have you gotten in return for it all? '
" Have your efforts brought you a single thing that is of
real value to you ? " " How about the time and strength
that you have wasted in securing — what?' "What
next and why? " " How is it all going to end? " — and
many more disturbing suggestions of a similar sort. Of
course, the spell of the " blues," as I was pleased to call

302

WITH THE POWERS THAT PREY

these promptings of conscience or common-sense — I
think the terms to be interchangeable — would be fol-
lowed by my taking to the road again, literally or other-
wise. But the inquisition of myself by myself was so
certain to be waiting for me at the close of the tramp
or exploit, that I often half-dreaded, rather than wel-
comed, the termination of the latter.

These things are said because I am reminded that,
during all my wanderings, I never felt the " chill of
achievement '" strike me so sharply as it did on that
April afternoon, when the liner on which I had returned
to America left quarantine and began to steam slowly
up the bay. Around and ahead were sights that I had
been dreaming of and longing for many moons to again
feast my eyes on. The Staten Island and Bay Ridge
shores, flushed with tender green, slid by us; Liberty
lifted a high beckoning hand of welcome, the Brooklyn
warehouses, Governor's Island, New Jersey's fringe of
masts and funnels, the fussy tugs, the blunt-nosed, busi-
ness-like ferryboats, and Manhattan itself, with its line
of sky-scrapers like unto jagged teeth, chewing the upper
air, were all so familiar and had been so much desired!
And yet came a sudden apathy regarding them and a
dissatisfaction with them and myself that seemed to
sicken and palsy. I actually began to wish that I need
not get off the boat at all, but, instead, might stay on her
until she turned her nose again toward the lands in
which, a week or so before, I had been so utterly discon-
tented. And why? Who can explain the hidden springs
of the human mentality?

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MY LIFE

You would hardly believe it, if I were to tell you, that
a like attitude or condition of mind is by no means
uncommon in the case of a crook (commonly called a
"gun") who has finished a long "bit" or term in
prison. Naturally, the man puts most of his time in
thinking and planning about what he will do when the
day comes for him to shake hands with the governor
and to take train to where he may be going. But the
reaction sets in with the hour of release, and there comes
a more or less marked distaste for, or dislike of, the very
things to which the ex-prisoner has been looking for-
ward for years perhaps. Sometimes the man has been
working out a way by which he can " square it," or live
an honest life in the future. I am sorry to say, however,
that the " guns " who, having " done their spots," keep
on the square thereafter, are few indeed. Usually the
thoughts of the " lagged " criminal are directed toward
perfecting means and methods of " nicking a swell swag
and doing the get-away " — in other words, of stealing
a considerable amount of money or valuables without
being arrested. But, as with the rest of us, the " gun "
seems to suffer from temporary brain-fag when he comes
into physical contact with things and affairs that before
had been known to him mentally. So, instead of his
plans being put in action, a newspaper item like this not
infrequently appears :

John Smith, no address, was arrested last evening at Broadway and
Fortieth Street, charged with being drunk and disorderly and assaulting
an officer. In court this morning, Policeman Jones said that the pris-
oner had insulted and annoyed a number of citizens, had kicked over

3°4

From photograph taken in St. I'eter

Josiah Flynt, in His "Garb of the Road," while Tramping in Russia

WITH THE POWERS THAT PREY

the outside showcases of a tobacconist , and had struck Jones several
times before he could be subdued. Smith was recognized in court as
"Conkey," otherwise John Richardson, a crook, who was released
from State Prison only a few days since at the termination of a four years'
sentence for burglary. In view of his record, he was held in default
of $2,000 bail for trial at Special Sessions.

It is well for us, who claim to belong to the respecta-
ble classes, that this pruning of intention in the presence
of fact is the rule rather than the exception. The public
would be in a pretty pickle if the Powers that Prey
invariably gave practical expression to their prison-fed
fancies; for these last, as I have reason to know,.. if they
are put in operation, rarely fail to accomplish their. pur-
pose. Perhaps seventy-five per cent, of the really big
"jobs" that are successfully "pulled off' have their
inception in the " stir ' or penitentiary, or in State
prison, the details being worked out by the " mob '•■' or
gang with which the discharged " gun," the author of
the " plant," is affiliated. As the crook who gets a term
of years generally gets it on the score of his professional
ability, and as there is little or nothing during his " bit '
to interfere with his thinking of thoughts, it is no won-
der that his schemes seldom miscarry if they ever reach
the stage of actual test.

Outside of the criminal, it may be that we ourselves,
and our friends, also, are none the worse because our
powers of execution are numbed or hindered for a like
reason. What an unbearable world this would be, if
every man could give expression to the fads and fancies
that, to use the phrase of the Under World, " wos eatin'

305

MY LIFE

him " ! And what a readjustment of social, commercial
and personal affairs would be necessary in order to insure
one the bare essentials of existence under the circum-
stances !

I'll pass over the hour or so of gloom and doubt that
was mine before our steamer tied up at her pier, and
merely say, that, as soon as I descended the gangway
and touched what, under the circumstances, stood for
dry land, my depression went by the board and I was my
own man again. I found myself eying the awaiting
crowd inquisitively, in order to see whether it contained
any familiar faces, welcome or the reverse. I may add
that, for reasons which it isn't necessary to explain, I
had not notified any of my friends of my intention to
return to the United States. Hence a meeting with
acquaintances would be the outcome of chance rather
than of design.

It was with a mixture of pique, anger and regret,
tempered — if I must confess it — with a touch of amuse-
ment, that I realized that my welcome home came in the
shape of a broad smile from as clever a crook as ever
turned a trick in Wall Street with the aid of a
mahogany-fitted suite of offices and — the law itself.

It is a somewhat natural, although, if you come to
think it over, rather an unreasonable expectation, that
prompts us to look upon those whom we first meet on
landing on a foreign, or on our native shore, as repre-
sentative of the people of the country in general. But,
after all, while the longshore population of every land is
rather different from the rest of the inhabitants, the for-

306

WITH THE POWERS THAT PREY

mer, in Europe at least, exhibit the national earmarks
to a degree sufficient to satisfy the average tourist. I
need hardly add that such earmarks are, to an extent,
of a distinctive and significant nature. The costumes,
gestures, manners and the language of the longshore
advance guard, always seem to me to have a due relation
each to each, and to those other things that the traveler
meets further inland.

Something like these thoughts came to me, as I
mechanically returned the smile of the man who was
making his way through the crowd, dodging the line of
stewards and baggage that was swirling over the ship's
side. It was a silly and unpatriotic thought, no doubt,
and it was probably parented by a variety of factors,
including my familiarity with the Under World, but it
came to me with cynical force and humor that there was
something not entirely inappropriate in the fact that a
well-dressed, amiable-looking, and apparently prosper-
ous individual, of devious morals and crooked methods,
should be so much in evidence on the threshold of a land,
so to speak.

Now, don't misunderstand me. I don't wish to imply
by the foregoing that we are a nation of criminals large
and small, and that, hence, we were, in this instance,
properly represented on the pier head by my smiling
friend. But I do earnestly believe that the American
public does not, as yet, realize the danger that arises
from the big masses becoming accustomed to the current
and growing dishonesty of the small classes. I say
" accustomed to," meaning thereby that the public ap-

307

MY LIFE

parently accepts the dictum that if a man or corporation
steals on a sufficiently big scale, not only is the law para-
lyzed by the legal lights who are willing to accept retain-
ing fees from thieves, but, in addition, our youths are
taught to regard such thievery as equivalent to success.

My observation has taught me that crime is like water
— it steeps from the top. A nation is, more or less, pat-
terned after its prominent men. If these, when subjected
to moral analysis, turn out to be simply " dips " who
operate on a large scale, so much the worse for the
nation, for, while the example of the men in question
may not be followed in degree by the multitude, it
surely is in kind. I'll defy any one to disprove this
assertion by means of municipal or historic data. On the
other hand, I could, if necessary, show that, in repeated
cases, financial coups — so called — and " deals," and all
the rest of the legalized robberies in high places, were
followed or accompanied by a rushing business in the
magistrates' or criminal courts.

Once upon a time, " Chi " — as Chicago is known to
the Under World — was the headquarters for crooks of
all grades and types — including the authors of wheat
corners and so forth. But New York is or will be, so I
take it, the gathering place for most of the manipulators
of the financial world. I venture the prophecy that,
when the fact is established that the metropolis is their
favorite roosting place, there will be a corresponding
activity on the part of the local " guns " of all descrip-
tions, budding or full blown, from the office boy, who
swipes postage stamps, to the up-to-date gopher-man,

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WITH THE POWERS THAT PREY

who cleans out a " peter " or safe with the help of a
pocket laboratory and electric drills.*

I do not think that the needs of this story call for the
name of the man with the smile. Up to the time of
writing, he has kept out of prison, and the Upper World
holds him to be a reputable person in consequence —
which is the way of the Upper World, which judges a
man on the score of results rather than on that of actions.
That he and the other members of his mob are not
viewing the Hudson scenery through barred windows, is,
I believe, due to the fact that one of his pals is an astute
and eminently respectable lawyer, who, because he knows
his business as thoroughly as he does, can make the law
serve the very crooks whom it is supposed to suppress.
By this it will be gathered that he was and is one of those
sharks known as financial lawyers, who infest the tem-
pestuous seas of the financial district. He is a member
of the Union League, and of a Fourth Avenue church,
and has been identified with several citizens' movements
having to do with the betterment of certain phases of
municipal administration. He is one of the meanest
unmugged " guns " that has ever helped to graft pennies
from a sick widow's chimney stocking. This is no figure
of speech. The enterprises which he and his mob spring
on the public are especially designed to appeal to the

*Mr. Flynt's prophecy has been approximately fulfilled. Without
subscribing to his suggestion that the majority of our great financiers are
"crooks," it is certain that the metropolis is just now, and has been
for some time past, suffering from a crime-wave of an almost unparalleled
height and vehemence. The pages of the daily newspapers and the
admissions of the police authorities furnish proof thereof.

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MY LIFE

hopes and fears of those whose knowledge of financial
affairs and personal means are equally small. The vic-
tims invariably include a goodly percentage of women
who, being without advisers, are anxious to invest their
scant savings, and having an idea that Wall Street is,
somehow or other, a place for making money, hand over
fist, stand ready to swallow the mendacious yarns that
form the basis of the printed matter of the corporations
or " pools " in question.

All grafting is of course bad from the viewpoint of
the Upper World, although the Under World thinks
otherwise. But I honestly believe that the real " dip,"
" moll-buzzer," " peter-man," " prop-getter," " thimble-
toucher," " queer-shover," " slough-worker," " second-
story man," or any other form of " gun," looks upon the
" paper-pipers," such as my crook of the pier and his
associates were, in much the same manner as a bank rob-
ber regards an East Side door-mat thief.

The last that I heard of the man, and that quite
recently, was, that he and his pals were floating a com-
pany that allegedly proposed to manufacture and sell a
paint " which entered into the substance of the material
on which it was used, so became part and parcel of it,
and, in consequence, was practically indestructible." I
quote from the preliminary pamphlet that was sent to
the " suckers " who nibbled at the glittering bait of the
concern's newspaper advertisements.

The public would probably fight shy of — (we will
call him John Robins, which approximates his trade
name) if it knew that he has " done time " in Colorado

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WITH THE POWERS THAT PREY

for burglary, and was run out of at least one other West-
ern State for separating people from their money in a
manner not recognized by city or mining camp laws.
The " gun " fraternity — at least a large part of it —
knows the facts in his case, but it isn't in the business of
putting " the good guys next to the graft," or, in other
words, of telling tales out of school.

The police and the Pinkerton Detective Agency are
"wise"; but in these cases again, there is no official
reason for action against Robins and his mob, while, on
the other hand, there may be, and probably are, very
excellent reasons for leaving him alone. I fancy that my
readers will understand what I mean.

There was a sort of double end to my knowledge of
and acquaintance with the man. Both began with com-
plaints that had been sent to a metropolitan newspaper
by a " sucker " whose jaws had gotten tangled up with
and pricked by the hook that lay concealed in the Robins
literary matter, which, in this instance, had to do with a
land deal. For what he thought to be sufficient
reasons, the city editor of the newspaper assigned me to
investigate.

That same night, and by mere luck, I ran up against
an old-time slope crook, " Split " Kelly by name, whom
I had once known quite well. I asked him if he could
give me any information about Robins, and he then told
me that about the promoter which I have related and
which, by the way, I later confirmed through other in-
formants.

" How long ago since all this happened? " I asked.

3ii

MY LIFE

" Fifteen or twinty years, maybe," answered " Split."
" Thin ' Th' Tooth ' — we called him that because wan
uv his teeth in th' front of him was missin', ouin' to it
bein' in th' way of the fist of a flatty [policeman] — giv
out that he was goin' to square it. This was in 'Frisco,
molnd ye. An' th' squarin' took th' shape uv turnin'
mouthpiece [informant to the police]. An' thin things
began comin' agin the mob a-plinty. Big Bill Murray,
I moind, was wan of the first that was hauled before
th' Front Office [Police Headquarters] an' framed up
fur a whit of a strong-arm job. Likewise, was there
' Sweet ' Schneider, a clever dip at thot, an' Jimmy Cole
— he was stretched for a four spot — an' ' Cat ' Walters
— an' — will, a dozen or more uv purty decint bhoys, the
names un all uv which I disrimimber."

" But how about the percentage? " I asked, meaning
the money paid to the police by crooks in return for
" protection."

" In thim days," explained " Split," " thar was some
sort of mix-up in the Front Office; some ov th' pircint
bein' hild out by thim as had th' handlin' un it, as it
came frish from th' guns. Ye'll onderston', Cig., by thot
which soide th' beefin' came from. An' whin this Tooth
uv yourn began his tip-off, the Front Office guys thot
claimed they had bin done dirt, says, ' Ef we ain't in on
the game as we should be, why, no game goes.' An'
they begins to throw it in to us, as I've said.
'Twas th' owld story, Cig., th' owld story. Whin
there's trouble in th' Front Office, 'tis worked off on
the guns."

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WITH THE POWERS THAT PREY

" And so, Split," said I, " you too got your bit
through Tooth? " I had detected the tone of personal
dislike to "Tooth " in the old fellow's talk, and made a
guess at the reason.

" Ye guess roight, me chickin, though how ye guessed,
th' divil knows, seem' 's I said nawthing. An' why th'
mug put th' rap on me I'm not knowin'. T'ree days
before I was jumped into th' sweat-box, I staked him
to a tin-spot, for I'd touched for a fat leather." And
" Split " scowled darkly.

" And what happened next? "

" Split " held an imaginary match between his thumb
and forefinger, blew twice, and shook his head. By
which I knew that the guns that had been squealed on,
or the mob with whom they were associated, had twice
tried to take Robins's life or " put his light out," and
had failed in so doing.

"And then?"

" Thin," replied the veteran, easily, " me brave bucko
framed it up that there was too much free lead floatin'
in th' oir in thim parts, an' nixt comes news that he had
been pinched for connin' a bunch of Eastern towerists
at Manitou. But his fall-money [funds for such emer-
gencies] greased the elbows [bribed the detectives] an'
he made th' git away all right, all right, an' th' rest ye
know. An' from that time on I nivir seen or hear uv
him till wan day, three years since. Thin Clivir Saun-
ders, an old-time 'Frisco gun, tills me that Tooth was
gaffin [residing] in way up sthyle on Eighty-sivinth
Street, Wist, aginst th' Park. I misdoubted, but Clivir

313

MY LIFE

was roight, fur I stalled th' crib, an' sure enough me
ex-friend comes out an' hops abourd his big gas-buggy
an' away loike a wad uv easy. ' Oh, Ya,' ses I, ' some-
thin' doin'.' An' I tips off Clivir, an' th' nixt day whin

Tooth's chaw — choof — what th' is that Frinch

name, anyhow, Cig. ? — whin th' feller with th' goggles
sets her spinnin', a husky auto in which was me an'
Clivir, slips in th' track uv Tooth an' nivir loses soight
uv him 'te we marks him down in wan of thim Hivin-
hitting office joints on lower Broadway.

" But I was dead leary of followin' on below th'
Loine [the margin of the financial district in New
York City, beyond which it is supposed that no crook
can venture owing to the unwritten law of the police].
An' I ses so, to Clivir.

" ' Ef 'tis safe for him,' says he, ' 'tis sure safe for
we ' — which was untrue, secin' that at th' toime I had a
suspishun that I was bein' rapped by a mouthpiece re-
gardin' a trifle of a book belongin' to th' twintieth
cousin, more or liss, of somebody at th' Front Office.
An' 'tis bad, as ye know, Cig., to buck th' Front Office
dirict, or troo its twintieth cousin, fur, if ye do, th' fin-
gers [policemen] '11 get hould uv ye by fair manes or by
foul if they can.

" Howsinndever, we plants frind Tooth in his hang-
out, an' th' nixt day pays him a visit, bein' drissed in
our fall-togs [good clothes worn in court when on trial]
an' intinding to borrow a trifle fur th' sake uv th' ould
days. His nibs has a sure swell joint, with lots of nifty
dames hittin' thim typewritin' masheens, an' lots of

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WITH THE POWERS THAT PREY

rugs, an' brass, an' shiny wood, an' other things that
we knowed was glimpsed to catch suckers.

" Well, me and Clivir said we wanted to chin Tooth
about a private an' confidenshul investment — thim was
Clivir's wurrds — only av coarse we didn't call him
Tooth, but ' Misther Robins.' And prisintly a laad
with a load uv gilt buttons on his second sthory, escoorts
us into th' inside office of Tooth himself. An' an illigant
joint uv it, it was at thot.

" Tooth knowed us at wanst as I see, and I see, too,
his fingers sthray toward a black tin box on th' disk to
his right.

" ' Ye can sthay your hond, ould pal,' says Clivir, aisy
like, ' we are goin' to act like the gints we look. Guns,
the t'ree uv us maybe,' says he, ' but thare'll only be
t'ree an' no more on exhibishun in this here palashul
joint of yours, onless indade ye insist on a show-down,
which is unlikely ! ' Clivir had a fine lay-out of lan-
gwidge, so he had.

" ' Will,' says Tooth, looking at us with the swate
exprission of a fly-cop who's had his leather reefed,
' what th' divil do ye two want? '

" ' Me frind,' says Clivir, politely, an' pointin' to me,
' lost his sense uv touch during th' payriod that he spint
in th' stir uv a famous Wistrin city, injoying th' grub
an' ripose uv th' same through th' fayvour uv yourself,
Tooth. An' bein' in destitoot circumstances ivir since,
he is sure come to ask ye to make good for disthroyin'
his manes uv turnin' a dishonist pinny.'

" Tooth nivir turned a hair, but I was discumforta-

315

MY LIFE

ble whin I saw th' smoile uv him. He threw his chair
a thrifle closer to th' telephone an' thin he says in a voice
that was unplisintly quiet:

" ' Listen, you mugged guns. You think you kin call
th' turn on me an' so want to touch for a few centuries
[$ioo bills], an' after that fur a few more, and after
that some more yet. Let me till you that you'll not only
not get a red-un out uv me, but, if ivir I see th' mugs
uv ye within a half-acre of this joint again, I'll tip off th'
Front Office an' put ye where ye belong. Oh, it's aisy
enough fur me to do it, so it is. A wurrd to th' Big
Man, or th' payple uptown, sayin' that two bustid crooks
was thrying to blackmail me — me, th' prisident of a
large an' repitable corporashun, to say nothing uv me
soshul and personal sthanding — an' where wud ye be?
How could th' half uv us in a game like I'm runnin',
kape goin', if Mulberry Street an' the Big Man, didn't
privint the likes uv you from botherin' thim uv us who've
bin a bit mixed up with gun graft in th' past? To pri-
vint ye thin from takin' chances this side uv th' Loine in
th' future, I give it to ye straight thot we're so will
looked afther by thim who can do it — an' do, mind
ye — thot th' touch uv this button or th' touch of this
wan would mane a couple of husky fly-cops, who'd shake
th' shell off ye, before ye got th' framin' up thot would
make ye sick uv York fur th' rist of yer days. An' now
git, th' pair of yez.' "

" An', Cig., we got, feelin' like th' sneak who foinds
he's swiped a jar uv moldy pickles.

" ' I thought I knowed th' whole uv th' graft game,'

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WITH THE POWERS THAT PREY

said Clivir, whin we'd got clear uv the joint, ' by theory,
anyhow,' sez he, ' but, Split, take it from me, th' only
people who's really on to it, an' knows th' size uv it, an'
th' shape uv it, an' th' spread uv it, an' where it begins
an' how it inds, an' what's in it, is th' Front Office an'
th' guys behind it'

Which words was thrue, Cig. — they was sure
rue.

The next day, I called on Robins with the letter from
the alleged victim of the land deal enterprise, asking
him what he had to say about it.

He opened a desk, produced a box of cigars, passed
them to me, and, looking me straight in the eyes, said,
with a smile : " And what sort of answer do you want,
anyhow? "

Whereupon I felt and saw that I was up against a
cool, clever confidence man who had chosen to " work "
in the Wall Street district instead of amid the environ-
ments of the usual sort.

Now you may or may not know it, but the confidence
man of tip-top attainments cultivates the control and
expression of his features with as much care as does the
professional beauty — this for the reason that his looks
are among his most valuable assets. For the first stage
in " turning a trick," whether this be done in a Broadway
hotel or a downtown office building, is for the operator
to get a hold on the confidence of his victim by impress-
ing him with his, the former's, frankness and honesty
through the medium of his steady gaze, cheery smile and
sincerity of expression in general. But " wise " people

317

MY LIFE

are not taken in by these things. Apart from all else,
those who have had much to do with criminals — whether
mugged or unmugged — will tell you that there is such
a thing as the " crook eye," which invariably gives its
owner away. It is, as I once heard a clever detective
put it, " an eye behind the eye " — a something sinister
peeping out from the bland and childlike gaze which the
" con " turns on his prospective gull.

Robins's eyes were big and blue and clear, and almost
infantile in their expression. Nevertheless, as he faced
me smiling, I saw the " crook's eye " sizing me up, and
I knew that old " Split's " story was more or less true.
And, on the impulse of the moment, I began " throwing
it into him " in the " patter " of the Under World.

Robins's eyes narrowed for an instant, but that was
all. His command of his countenance was simply lovely.
And I, as a connoisseur of things having to do with gun-
dom, could not but sit and admire. Then he smiled, not
quite so nice a smile as those he had been giving me.
Mr. Robins realized that the need for professional effort
had passed.

" Well," he said, after a meditative pause, " I see
that you're on, or think you are. And now what?"
The laugh with which he finished the sentence was so
unmistakably real that I at once became wary.

" I guess you know enough of reporters," I said,
rather lamely, " to understand that I'm here to ask
whether the complaints in this letter are founded on fact
or otherwise."

" Fact in one sense," he replied, cheerily, " but that

3i8

WITH THE POWERS THAT PREY

won't do this squealer any good, because we're protected
on that score, as I'll show you."

He produced one of the agreements that were in force
between his concern and its patrons — or " suckers " —
and pointed out a " joker " in it which legally, but cer-
tainly not morally, rendered invalid the charge of swin-
dling on the part of the letter writer.

" You must have a mighty clever lawyer behind you,"
I couldn't help saying.

" Yes," replied Robins, complacently, " he knows his
business and he's one of us. We have to be prepared
for kicks of this sort, because our business breeds 'em.
They come our way all the time."

He spoke with cynical frankness.

" I'm going to use that remark of yours in my story,"
I said.

" See here, cull," he retorted, dropping into the ver-
nacular of the Under World, and wheeling his chair sud-
denly so as directly to face me, " I don't know who you
are outside of your card; but, as I said before, you're on,
so it seems, and I don't want to treat a good guy like you
on the cross. It's no use your wasting my time or me
wasting yours in jollying. But you can't get a line in
your newspaper that's going to queer me. See? And
in no other paper in this little burg. Understand? I
guess you know all about reporting down to the ground.
But there's some sides of the newspaper business that
you ain't next to yet. This is one of them. You may
as well quit right here as far as I am concerned, for nixy
a line of roast goes that you push out about me."

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MY LIFE

" And that, too, goes in my story," I replied, rather
hotly.

He smiled indulgently, yawned, and rose. " Come
and have lunch with me some day," he said. " You
seem a spry boy, and I may throw something in your
way."

" I've got stuff for a front-page display," I reported
to the city editor half an hour later.

" I — ah — don't think we need it," replied the little
man with the tired eyes whom I addressed. " You can
put in a bill for your time, but — you needn't write it.
Orders from the old man."

I knew that the advertising end of the newspaper had
once more been wagging the editorial tail, and that,
once again, it had been decided that it was better to
protect a rogue rather than lose his half-page " ad." in
the Sunday edition, to say nothing of his quarter pages
during the balance of the week!

Robins knew whereof he spoke when he assured me
that there was " nothing doing " in regard to himself.
When I left his office, he simply telephoned his adver-
tising agent, explaining the situation. The latter, in
turn, telephoned the business department of the news-
paper, and — there you are.

Curiously enough, Robins seemed to take a fancy to
me for some reason or other. On more than one occa-
sion he made me an enticing offer to enter his employ as
publicity man or press agent. But I couldn't swallow
my prejudice against his " plants " in the first place, and
I had other and sufficiently lucrative affairs in hand in

320

WITH THE POWERS THAT PREY

the second. Still, we ran into each other at times, and
he never failed to jolly me on the score of my failure to
show him up.

To return to our meeting on the pier head; after an
apparently hearty greeting from him, he asked if I had
seen " Peck " Chalmers on board. He explained that
Chalmers was to have returned to America on the
steamer on which I had crossed, but apparently hadn't.

" Of course," said Robins, " Peck would have come
under a monacher [alias], so I wasn't sure if he was on
the passenger list or not."

I knew the fellow he spoke of, a quiet, elderly, well-
mannered and cleanly shaven man of forty-five or so,
who looked like a minister in mufti, but who, in reality,
was a clever gambler and " con gun " ; one of Robins's
own profession.

Robins went on to explain that Peck had gone abroad
to see if the " wire-tapping " game or its equivalent could
be worked in Great Britain.

" He went broke over — what do you think? — the
give-away of an up-State fly-cop with caterpillars in his
whiskers and grass-seed in his hair. Think of it — Peck,
one of the best men in the business, busted by a bumble-
bee, fresh off the dogwood ! It happened this way : The
State cop [State detective] looked as if he had come to
see what was going on at Yard's Town Hall, but he
really was a sharp lad who had mixed it up with a lot of
good people, as we later found out. Well, Peck's mob
picked him up as easy, and he toted them along till they
almost hated to take the three thousand that he wrote

321

MY LIFE

home for. To show how much in earnest he was, he let
Peck himself mail the letter to the Savings Bank at Gee-
haw Corners, ordering the cashier to sent the oof to
Peck direct, to be placed on a horse that the innocent was
to be tipped off to, day after to-morrow.

" So that day, the jay was allowed to win a hundred
and fifty, and had a joyous time of it with the mob.
At about midnight, Peck and the whole bunch were
pinched, and think how they felt when the country cop
threw back his coat and flashed a State detective badge !
It cost the mob down to their shirt buttons to get out of
the mess."

" How is the wire game in New York? " I queried.

"Never better, pal!" was the instant reply.
" Everything is smooth with the Front Office, and the
suckers are so thick that we can't attend to 'em."

"We?" I said.

Robins laughed. " I'm saying nothing. I'm a
respectable business man with offices — here's my card."

With that we parted.

You can find a moral in all this — and you're wel-
come to it.

322

CHAPTER XXVI

HONOR AMONG THIEVES SO CALLED

I HAVE often wondered whence and wherefore that
queer — what shall I call it, satisfaction, pride? —
which I think a good many of us feel at being on
nodding or talking terms with notorious characters.
Please remember that I am now speaking as Josiah
Flynt, the respectable citizen, and not as Josiah Flynt,
the man of the Under World.

My capacity " for to see and to admire," as Mr.
Kipling says, was fairly active in the most depressing
days of my speckled past. The " seeing and admiring "
is the privilege of the spectator who, because he is such,
may be near the crowd and not of it. So, in a sense,
I stood aloof, my insatiable curiosity often prompting
me simply to observe where otherwise I might have
freely partaken. This curiosity was one of my few
saving graces, although it is only recently that I have
become aware of its being so.

But this — may I call it philosophic? — habit of obser-
vation, and the making of many incidental and disrepu-
table friendships, is or was, a totally distinct thing from
the prideful zest with which John Brown, father, tax-

323

MY LIFE

payer, and pew-renter turns to James Jones, ditto, ditto,
and ditto, and says:

" Notice that chap who nodded to me? That's
' Corky Bunch,' who fought and nearly killed Jimmy
Upcut out in Colorado last year. He rents his flat
from us."

Or it may be that James Jones will say something
like this:

" That's ' Billy the Biff ' who just said ' morning ' to
me. You know — leader of the Redfire gang. Said to
have killed nine men. But they can't send him to the
chair because he does all the thug work round election
time for Barney O'Brill, the 'teenth ward boss. Ain't
such a bad looker, is he? Swell dresser, too. Buys his
shirts at our store." And Jones, who is as law-abiding
a citizen as ever lived, turns to his friend a face which is
pink with satisfaction.

Again — not long after my last return to New York,
I made the acquaintance of a nice old gentleman who
is the senior partner of a wholesale stationery concern,
father of a fine family, deacon of a Harlem church, mem-
ber of a citizens' committee, and much more of that
sort of thing. Likewise, and for certain reasons which
are not important enough to explain, I was introduced
to him under another name than my own. He had been
to New York's Chinatown once or twice in tow of a
professional guide, who, knowing what was expected of
him, had filled his patron with amazing stories of the
quarter and its residents. The guide had, furthermore,
introduced his charge to the fake opium joints, the fan-

324

HONOR AMONG THIEVES SO CALLED

tan games and alleged highbinder clubs which are in
turn arranged for the reception and the mulcting of
visitors. Therefore the old fellow felt fully capable of
playing leader himself the next time a collection of coun-
try cousins visited town, and I was invited to join the
party.

" You needn't hesitate to come along," gurgled the
ancient, cheerfully. " When you are with any one that
knows Chinatown as well as I do, there isn't a bit of
danger, believe me. It's only strangers to the place
that are likely to get into trouble."

And this to me !

However, I went, and the large glee with which he
pointed out, as hatchet-men and gamblers and lottery
keepers and opium-joint proprietors and members of
various tongs and of this society and that guild, inoffen-
sive Chinese, who were in reality shopkeepers or laundry-
men who had come down to Pell or Mott streets in order
to have a night off, was a sight to see. It vouched for
the industrious imagination of the professional guide,
and when it was all over, and we were on our way
uptown again, he beamingly remarked that unless people
mixed with all sorts and conditions of folk they — the
people — were likely to get very narrow. In other words,
you could only round out your life by rubbing shoulders
with disreputables.

I have already offered, or rather suggested, one ex-
planation of this social phenomenon, and now another
occurs to me. Haven't you, when a youngster, thrust
your toes out under the blankets on a winter's morning

325

MY LIFE

for the express purpose of accentuating the comfort of
the bed when you drew them back again? I guess you
have. And so, I think, respectable people like to empha-
size their respectability by bringing it into close, if tem-
porary, contact with its antithesis. A shudderful joy
results, no small part of which arises from the conviction
that we are not like unto the other men.

Something like that which I have just set down came
to me on the second day of my return to New York,
while riding downtown on a Sixth Avenue car. It was
Monday morning, and three-fourths of the passengers
were bargain-hunting women, judging by their conversa-
tion. On the rear platform were two " moll-buzzers,"
or pickpockets, who make a specialty of robbing the fair
sex, and sitting near the front door was a stylish, " well-
groomed," reserved woman, whom I at once recognized
as " Angeles Sal," or Sarah Danby, one of the cleverest
women who ever stole a purse. There came to me a
thrill of the feeling of which I have been speaking. I
felt a pleasant glow of superiority in that I, alone, of
all the people in the car, was so well versed in the affairs
of the Under World that I knew that some of the
dwellers therein were on board. I awaited the things
which I felt sure were soon to happen.

They came somewhat more quickly than I had
imagined.

At Herald Square the car stopped to let a half dozen
of the women alight. Besides the " moll-buzzers," there
were two or three other men on the rear platform, which
was, in consequence, somewhat crowded. This was pre-

326

HONOR AMONG THIEVES SO CALLED

cisely as the pickpockets desired. Scarcely had the last
woman gotten into the street when there came a loud
shriek from one of them.

She turned, grabbed the hand-rail of the car that by
this time had begun to move, and yelling, " I've been
robbed ! " ran along with it without loosening her grip.
Naturally, every remaining passenger jumped to his feet,'
and I saw " Angeles Sal " press into a group that were
clustered at the windows.

Events followed with surprising celerity. The car
halted with a jerk, one of the " moll-buzzers " — the
" stall," by the way — opened the near platform gate,
jumped into the roadway, and disappeared as completely
as if the earth had swallowed him. The other seemed
to vanish into thin air and simultaneously a police officer
appeared at both front and rear doors.

Instinctively my eyes sought Sal. She was in the
act of getting out from among the others, and by a
single swift movement stood in front of me. Then she
made a scarcely audible sound with her lips — something
like the ghost of a kiss — and as her right hand passed
to the left, apparently for the purpose of opening a
hand-bag which was hanging from her left wrist, I felt
something drop into the folds of a newspaper which I
was carrying in an upright fashion between my hands,
its lower edges resting on my knee. The woman had
recognized me as of the Under World, had given me
the thief's call for help and caution, and had planted
her " swag " on me without further parley. Indeed,
there wasn't time for talk, only time for action. The

327

MY LIFE

next instant, the excited little woman who had been
" touched," burst into the car, accompanied by a third
policeman.

" Now, madam," said the detective, brusquely, " is
there anybody here whom you think lifted your purse?
If so, pick the person out and we will go to the station
house." The woman hesitated, glancing from face to
face.

" This is infamous," said Sal, in a tone of well-bred
anger to a lady who was standing by her side. " We are
all of us, so it seems, practically accused of theft." And
she moved toward the front door.

" You will excuse me, lady," said the officer on guard,
" but you will please stop in the car until this party
has said her say out."

Sal flushed indignantly, and drew herself up with mag-
nificent haughtiness. Then she pulled out her cardcase.

" If you don't know me, my good man," she re-
marked, quietly, " I suppose you have heard of my hus-
band? " And she passed him a pasteboard.

The detective simply wilted as he glanced at the card.

" I beg your pardon, madam," he said. " No offense
meant; line of duty, you know, madam." And, mum-
bling more apologies, he helped her off the car and made
way for her through the crowd that had gathered.

Later I learned that Sal had " sized up " the detective
as unknown to her. She had the audacity to make it
appear — on her cards — that she was the wife of a cer-
tain member of the judiciary who was the owner of an
international reputation.

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HONOR AMONG THIEVES SO CALLED

It should be added that the cards stood her in good
stead on several occasions. But when the shining light
of the bench began to get polite notes from department
stores in which he was requested to be good enough to
ask his wife to be somewhat more discreet in her methods
of " obtaining expensive goods, inasmuch as some of our

assistants to whom Mrs. is not known, may cause

her inconvenience," he began to investigate. These com-
munications meant that she had been caught shoplifting
and had only squeezed out of the scrapes by her grande
dame manner and her visiting cards.

In the meantime I had been sitting with Sal's swag
" fiddled," or concealed, in my newspaper and expecting
a squeal from the " touched " one every instant.

The squeal didn't come off, however. Neither did
the excited little woman identify her despoiler. So the
police departed and the car went on. I took an early
opportunity of disembarking, and in a convenient place
examined that which the newspaper contained — I don't
mean the news.

Sal's graft proved to be a small gold or gilt purse,
which contained a few bills and a couple of valuable
rings, which were evidently on their way to a jeweler's
for repairs. One was a cluster ring of diamonds and
rubies that had had its hoop broken. The other had
two big, white stones, set gypsy fashion — it was a man's
ring, or rather the stones were so set. But one of the
diamonds having loosened had been removed and sewed
up in a bit of muslin which, in turn, was secured to the
ring itself. The purse evidently belonged to a woman.

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MY LIFE

Now, you would have thought that the moment that
the cry of " thief " was raised, the owner of the rings
would have assured herself that the valuables were all
right, and would remain so. That thought by the same
token would mark you as a denizen of the Over instead
of the Under World.

Angeles Sal was not only an expert with her hands,
but also a student of human nature. For that matter
most " guns " are those whose graft is somewhat out
of the ordinary. So, when the " squeal " was put up,
she kept a keen eye on the women passengers and saw
most of them slap their hands on that part of their
persons where their valuables were hidden. The action
was involuntary, as it always is in such cases. It told
Sal all she wanted to know.

She selected to " touch " a woman who was carrying a
suede hand-bag, the fastenings of which were of the
dumb-bell order. This woman had, when the outcry
was raised, spasmodically touched the lower part of the
bag, felt it a moment, and, satisfied, turned her attention
to the crowd outside. This was Sal's cue, and it was an
easy matter for her to " teaze " the bag open, extract the
purse, and re-shut the former. Her knowledge of every-
day people's nature had taught her that if the idea of the
rings being safe was once fixed in their owner's mind
the latter would, in consequence, be safer to " touch "
than she would be under ordinary circumstances.

This reminds me that a good many of the successful
" getaways " of the Powers that Prey are due to an
insight into the workings of the human mentality rather

330

HONOR AMONG THIEVES SO CALLED

than to agile fingers or elaborate kits of tools. If you
know what the other man is going to do next, he is yours,
or rather his belongings are. This is an aphorism that
is always in order in the Under World. So it is that
" guns " are always studying the art of forecasting. So
well are most " plants " arranged, in consequence, that,
for the most part, when they fail it is on account of the
interposition of the unexpected rather than from any
defects in the plan of campaign.

If the foregoing story interests you at all it will prob-
ably be on the score of its being an illustration of the
so-called " honor among thieves." In other words, you
will have come to the conclusion that Sal, thinking that
she recognized in me a member of the Under World,
threw herself and her " swag " on my presumed
" honor," trusting to luck for us to meet again and
" divvy " on the usual terms that exist between pal and
pal; for, in all cases of a "touch," the parties to it share
alike. Now, as a matter of fact, Sal's motive was of an
entirely different kind. She knew that she was in a
tight place, saw one chance of saving her booty, and took
it. That was all that it amounted to, and, from her
point of view, she did perfectly right. Newspapers and
cheap novels are responsible for a whole lot of romantic
humbug in regard to pickpockets and their doings, from
the time of Robin Hood down, including the " thieves'
honor " proposition.

It is proper for me to add that I advertised the purse
and the rings as being " found," and they were, in due
time, restored to their owner.

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MY LIFE

I have often been asked as to whether " honor among
thieves " is fact or fiction. The question is not easy to
answer. In the first place, honor is a relative term, its
interpretation, so it seems to me, depending on place, per-
son and circumstance. Those casuists of the cynical sort
who affirm that all human motive is based on selfishness,
will hardly except the attribute in question from their
generalization.

However open to criticism this same generalization
is, so far as it applies to the average citizen, I am cer-
tainly inclined to accept it when the crook is concerned.
The business of attaching to yourself things that don't
belong to you is plainly of a very selfish nature. It has
its inception as well as its execution in a desire to get as
much possible pleasure with as little possible trouble as
may be, and that, too, while ignoring the incidental
rights of anybody and everybody.

This statement, as I take it, is a pretty fair definition
of selfishness of any and every description. As most
motives take color from the acts from which they spring
or to which they relate, it follows that the " honor '
which we are pleased to think of as existing between
rogues, is in reality a something which is prompted by a
due regard for the persons or the purses of the self-same
individuals. This distinguishes the honor that obtains
in the Under World from that which is mostly in evi-
dence in the Over World. In the latter instance the
factor of one's good name or character is involved; it
is absent in the former. From this characterization you
will infer, as I intend you shall, that the " honor " of

332

HONOR AMONG THIEVES SO CALLED

the Powers that Prey is but a poor sort of a thing after
all, and is, as I have intimated, but personal interest
more or less thinly disguised.

Still, sometimes the disguise is so clever that it looks
like the real thing — to the outsider; but " wise " people
rarely fail in tracing the reasons which prompt a rogue
to refuse to give away a pal. Even when his doing so
means a long term in prison as against immunity if he
would only use his tongue to " peach " on his associate
and therefore cause that person's conviction.

In such cases the newspapers, so I've noticed, are apt
to give the mum one a species of glorification which is
never deserved. I want the words set up in italics ; they
deserve that distinction. Let me repeat, the crook who
cannot be got to " flash " on his gang, either by the third
degree at the " Front Office " — the often brutal inquisi-
tion at police headquarters — the prison chaplain, or the
district attorney's staff, is never dumb because his
" honor " prompts him to remain so. It is his self-
interest that bids him keep his mouth shut.

Some seven years ago, a bank in a little New Jersey
town, about fifty miles due west of New York, was one
night " done up " in good shape. The " peter-men,"
of whom there were four, secured something like eigh-
teen thousand dollars in greenbacks, to say nothing of a
bunch of negotiable papers and a couple of small jewel
safes, weighing about a hundred pounds each. The rich
residents of the locality used to store their sunbursts,
tiaras and rings in these safes, which, by the way, were
kept in the main safe of the bank. This was known to

333

MY LIFE

the gang who turned the trick, and the big safe proving
easy, the little ones " fell " in consequence.

The " guns " who were on the job hailed from the
West, and had been working together for some years.
They were all " good people," as the detective phrase is
for clever crooks. There was " Bandy " Schwarz, an
old-timer, who had seen the inside of every " stir and
jug" west of the Missouri; " Ike" Mindin, otherwise
" Beak," an expert with the drills and levers; " Sandy "
Hope, a notorious cracksman of Chicago birth and
criminal reputation, who, at the time of the New Jersey
" plant," was wanted in Kansas City in connection with
the shooting of a watchman of a dry goods store; and
another man who shall be nameless, so far as I am con-
cerned. I may add, however, that at this writing he is
living in New York, and has a fairly prosperous under-
taking business (of all things!), having " squared it"
for a half dozen or more years. If he should happen
to read this, he will know that the small, weazen-faced
chap who used to be about a good deal with Pete
Dolby's gang in the old days in Chicago, isn't ungrate-
ful. Following the breaking up of Dolby's crowd,
through the stool-pigeon, " Dutch Joe," I would many
a time have had to " carry the banner," or walk the
streets all night if it hadn't been for this man, who was
always ready to give up a bed or a cup of coffee.

As I've said before, the " getaway " — that is, the
method of escaping with the " swag " — is always care-
fully worked out by the framers of a " plant," or pro-
posed robbery. In this case it was of a rather elaborate

334

HONOR AMONG THIEVES SO CALLED

sort. The safe was to be drilled and jimmied instead of
being blown, because of the proximity of houses to the
bank. Then the plunder was to be loaded into a buggy,
the wheels of which were rubber-tired, while the horses'
hoofs were wrapped in cloth to deaden their sound.
The buggy was then to be driven to an appointed spot
near South Amboy, where a cat-boat in charge of Sandy
would be in waiting, to which the articles were to be
transferred. Then the craft was to be rowed off to a
fishing-ground, where the day was to be spent, and as
night fell, was to head for Gravesend Bay, where it
was believed that the valuables could be gotten on shore
without suspicion, either as fish or as the outfit of a
fishing party.

But the unexpected happened. The " getaway " was
begun all right, but a couple of miles from the bank the
buggy broke down under the weight of the two safes.
This was about four-thirty and in June. Now, it so
happened that the cashier of the bank was to take his
vacation during the following week, and in consequence
he was getting to his work ahead of time, and on this par-
ticular morning reached the bank at five-thirty o'clock.
Fifteen minutes later, the local police and population
were scouring the surrounding country, the " Front
Offices " of New York, Philadelphia and other big cities
were being notified, and a net, so to speak, was drawn
tightly around the scene of the " touch " from which
there was no escape. It all ended by Bandy and Mindin
being caught while trying to "cache" the safes in a wood
near to the scene of the breakdown. The third man had

33S

MY LIFE

disappeared with the currency. Mindin tried to scare
the pursuing Jerseymen by shooting, but got filled with
buckshot in consequence.

Bandy absolutely refused to " peach " on his pals.
He was bullied, coaxed, threatened, prayed over, offered
immunity and in other ways tempted to tell. It turned
out afterwards that the cause of all this effort on the
part of the police was that somehow or other they had
got a hint that Sandy Hope was mixed up with the job,
and they wanted him the worst way on account of the
Kansas City affair. In other words, they were willing
to let a " peter-man " go for the sake of getting a man-
killer. Bandy stood it out, though, and was finally sen-
tenced to seven years in prison.

Not long before I last left for Europe, I happened
into a prosperous, hybrid sort of store in a pretty town
about an hour's ride from New York. It was one of
those shops where you can buy nearly everything, from
stationery to Japanese ware, with tobacco, candy and
dress goods in between. Behind the counter, with a blue
apron covering his comfortable paunch and the capital
O legs, from which he got his " monacher," was Bandy
himself.

Now, the etiquette of the Under World doesn't per-
mit of one pal even recognizing another in the everyday
world unless the " office " is given and such a recognition
is desired — and safe. Hence, while I knew that Bandy
knew me and he knew that I knew it, I gave no sign of
that fact. Yet as he passed me the pack of cigarettes
for which I had asked, my forefinger tapped the back of

336

HONOR AMONG THIEVES SO CALLED

his hand twice, which, in the sign language of the Under
World, is equivalent to " I want to chin with you."
Bandy coughed a slight, guttural cough and gave a
hardly noticeable jerk of his head toward the rear of
the store. He had replied that he was willing to "chin"
and that the room at the back was all right for that
purpose. Whither we went when the other customer
in the place had been served and had departed.

I needn't tell about the reminiscences we exchanged.
I will come direct to that part of our conversation which
had to do with his exhibition of crook " honor " on the
lines related.

" You certainly wouldn't ' beef,' " I said tentatively.
" Many a man fixed like you were would have let his
clapper loose all right. And the newspapers did you
proud. 'Twas a fine front you put up, and the gang
ought to be proud of you."

" Proud nothing ! " said the reformed crook, impa-
tiently. " And seems to me, Cig., that you've caught
the patter of those nutty newspaper guys who is always
stinging the dear public about guys who never go back
on pals, because they're built that way and all the rest
of such guff."

He stopped disgustedly.

" Here's the straight of it. Up to the time that we
frisked a joint in Chi that happened to be owned by the
brother of a cop, we — the four of us — was doing well
and had a lot of fall money [large reserve sum for use
in case of emergencies]. Well, the gang agreed that if
one of us was copped out, the others would look out for

337

MY LIFE

his piece of fall money, and, what was more, while he
was put away, he should get a share of one-eighth of
all touches, which same could be sent to his wife or
kids, as the case might be. That was good enough,
wasn't it?"

I nodded and Bandy went on.

" That was the reason why I didn't turn mouthpiece.
Another was," he smiled grimly, " that it was quite
clearly understood that any one of us who opened his
mouth to the police once, wouldn't do so twice. Sandy
Hope, I mind me, was fond of announcing this fact in
a kind of casual way. Not that we mistrusted each
other, but it was well for everybody to know that the
man who tried any stalling off would have his light put
out just as soon as it could be arranged."

" But," I said, " supposing that the crowd didn't keep
its word — got away with the fall-money and the per-
centage on the touches while you were in jail? "

" In that case," answered Bandy, without a moment's
hesitation, " all bets would be off. The gentleman in
custody would make a cry that would be heard in every
detective bureau in America. There would be an imme-
diate decrease in the population of crooks. Why, I

know enough about Sandy to get his neck " he

stopped suddenly.

" And was this, too, understood by the gang? "

Bandy shifted uneasily on his seat.

" You make me weary — honest you do, Cig. What's
the matter with you? You know just as well as I do
that every gang of crooks knows just what I've been

338

HONOR AMONG THIEVES SO CALLED

telling you. If it weren't true, what's to keep them
from squealing every time they get arrested? "

In this last sentence Bandy summed up the whole ques-
tion of honor among thieves, and for this reason I have
told the foregoing at some length. The repentance of a
thief rarely, if ever, includes restitution. This statement
anyhow applies to the veterans. With the younger men
it is somewhat otherwise, and then usually through the
administrations of the prison chaplain. But after hav-
ing served a prison term for the first time the young
crook adopts the sophistry and cynicism of his elders
in crime. The only time that a thief feels regret for
his misdeeds is when the latter has been fruitless, or when
the proceeds have been lost to him.

What I have said about crooks not peaching on each
other does not apply to the professional stool-pigeon, or
" mouthpiece," who, by the way, is part and parcel of
every police force in every city and town in this country
and abroad. But these fellows can hardly be classed as
genuine crooks, at least in the great majority of instances.
They are rather the Pariahs of the Under World —
hated, despised and tolerated for precisely the same rea-
son that curs are allowed to roam through the streets.

It goes without saying that as long as the " mouth-
piece " forms an integral part of the police system of
civilization, so long will there be a real, although not
admitted, alliance between the Powers that Prey and the
Powers that Rule, with an incidental weakening and
demoralization of the latter.

Finally, there are times and seasons in which the

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MY LIFE

Under World of its own volition gives up an offender.
But these occasions are rare, and only when it is felt
that the individual must be sacrificed for the good of the
community. Usually there is a political pact in these
rare happenings.

340

JOSIAH FLYNT— AN APPRECIATION
By Alfred Hodder

WHAT first struck me was his prodigality in
talk. He scattered treasures of anecdote and
observation as Aladdin of the wonderful lamp
orders his slave to scatter gold pieces. The trait is not
common amongst men of letters; they are the worst com-
pany in the world; they are taking, not giving; if they
have not a notebook and a pencil brutally before you in
their hands, they have a notebook and pencil agilely at
work in their heads; your pleasure is their business; the
word that comes from their lips is but a provocative to
gain one more word from you; the smile that answers
your smile is but a grimace ; and their good stories, until
they have been published, are locked behind their lips
like books in a safe-deposit box. Flynt had no safe-
deposit box for his good stories, and no gift for silence;
the anecdotes in his books are amazing; the details of
just how he got them are still more amazing; he never
learned to use up his material, to economize, and he was
more amazing than his material.

He invited me the night I met him to go with him on
one of his wanderings. A Haroun-al-Rashed adventure

34i

MY LIFE

it seemed to me. I closed with the offer at once and
asked how I should dress. I had an idea that I must
wear a false beard and at least provide myself with a
stiletto and a revolver, and be ready to use them.
" Why, you will do just as you are," he said. " I shall
go just as I am." He did not know it, but he did not
tell the truth. He did not change his clothes, but at the
first turn into side streets he changed his bearing, the
music of his voice, his vocabulary. I could scarce under-
stand one word in five. He was a finished actor; Sir
Richard Burton, of course, was his ideal; always in the
Under World he passed unsuspected; always from the
start of our tramping together he had to explain me.
I could never pick up the manner, and indeed was too
amused to try; his habit was to explain me in whispers
as a dupe, and I had once to rescue him from a fight
brought on because he would not consent to sharing with
his interlocutor the picking of my pockets. I had more
than once to rescue him; he had the height and body of
a slim boy of fourteen, but just to see what the beast
would do he would have teased my lord the elephant,
and he took a drubbing as naturally as any other hard-
ship.

A finished actor, I have written; and an actor knowing
to his fingertips many parts. One instance must suffice.
I figured usually — I have said it — as a dupe. I was on
this night cast for the part of an accomplice, and he for
the part of a bold, bad breaker of safes and doors and
windows. The character was conceived in an instant.
An instant before we were two very tired, very quiet

342

JOSIAH FLYNT— AN APPRECIATION

men, strolling home through the Bowery in a bitter,
drizzling rain at three o'clock in the morning.

" Say, mate, what's the chanst for a cup o' coffee? "

The speaker was a fully togged out A. B. for the
service of the U. S., and on his cap were the letters
Oregon. To me the disguise was perfect. He did a
bit of the sailor's hornpipe on that slippery, glistening
pavement where the rain fell and froze under electric
lights.

"The chances are good," said Flynt; and he led
the way into a house near by.

The front of the house was as unlighted as respecta-
bility demands a house should be at three o'clock in the
morning; but there was a dim light at a side door. We
went in under the dim light and found music and danc-
ing, and little tables at which we could be served with
almost anything except coffee. The " Oregon " took
" Whisky straight — Hunter's if you've got it."

" Out at the Philippines? " asked Flynt.

" Sure thing."

" Came round the Cape? "

11 Did I? Say, I'll tell you about that."

"Battle of Santiago?"

The sailor was in the midst of the battle of Santiago
when Flynt smiled and said quietly:

" Have you seen the Lake Shore push yet? "

To me, at that time, the words were pure enigma, but
the color faded out of the sailorman's cheeks, and he
dropped back in his chair and said:

" Hell, partner, who are you? "

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MY LIFE

The rest of the dialogue was swift; I could not follow
it; I could only memorize.

" Where did you get those duds? "

" Bought 'em for nine dollars at No. — Bowery."

" What is the lay work? "

"About four per. But the war's played out here;
I'm going to shift up State. Where did you get your
duds?"

" Just got out."

" Thought your hands looked white. Where did you
do your time? "

11 Joliet."

" Joliet! — why, I did five years there myself."

And they fell to discussing wardens. Flynt knew
the names of the wardens.

" Say, have you got anything on? "

" A little job to-night uptown."

" Can't you put me next? "

" It's my friend's."

This with a nod toward me. The little job uptown
was mine. Never having heard before of the little
job uptown I declined to put any one next; and we gave
the sailorman coin to do a hornpipe for the sitters, and
left, presumably, to do the little job. We left in an
odor of sanctity, almost of reverence; we were supposed
to be accomplished cracksmen, and in high fortune;
princes and millionaires of the Under World.

A finished actor — I come back to that — and the
streets were his stage, and the first chance word his cue.
In a house he was not at home; when he put on the uni-

344

JOSIAH FLYNT— AN APPRECIATION

form he must wear at dinner, he put off his memory, his
experience, his wit. His anecdotes, his good stories,
lived in his " business suit," and refused to wear a
Prince Albert or a Tuxedo even, and waved him farewell
at the mere sight of a crush-hat. Make no mistake; the
anecdotes were as clean as what he has published; but
he was to the end a boy; he was shy; and except on his
own stage he was shy to the point of silence or of stam-
mering. He knew books; the books dealing with the
Under World he knew rather well ; but I fancy he never
read them except when he was ill. His book was the
men in the street; any man, in any street; policemen,
cabby, convict, or men of gentle breeding; him he would
read from dawn to dawn very shrewdly and gaily,
so long as the tobacco was good; and if the tobacco was
not good he would still read. I have given one instance
of his getting under a man's guard, of his turning him
inside out and inspecting him, not unkindly. It was his
habit to get under the guard of everyone he met, to turn
them inside out, and inspect them, not unkindly. He
talked to any one, every one, who gave him an opening;
but the man who got the first hearing was the vagabond.
In our strollings we never passed one without a halt,
and an interview, and copy. " They are all friends,
humbugs," he said philosophically; " I have been one of
them myself." But he always gave generously for his
means, and though he had begun by censuring me for
giving, for giving in ignorance, he expected me always
also to give.

Again, one anecdote must serve for many. The scene

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MY LIFE

was Fifth Avenue, two blocks north of Washington
Square. The petitioner was a well-set-up, firm-built
Englishman, clean-shaven, aged twenty-five, who said
to me:

" I beg your pardon? "

"Yes?" I said and halted.

" It's rather beastly, but I need a drink and I haven't
a penny — not a sou."

I said " Diable," and put my hand into my pocket.
The man's clothes, accent and bearing presumed so much
that if he needed a drink he needed food. At once
Flynt intervened. What was said I do not know;
the two stepped aside; but presently there was laughter
from both Flynt and my beggar; and we three sat
at table later, and told tales, and flushed one another's
secrets. My beggar was a gentleman ranker out on a
spree (it is Kipling of course), damned to all eternity,
but his guard once broken he was amusing, and Flynt
knew the trick to break his guard.

" Why, after I was dropped from the service, and it
came to selling my wife's jewels, I had rather beg than
that, and I cannot get work," he said simply. " They
say my clothes are too good. What the deuce is the
matter with my clothes? But begging is not so bad;
I make a good thing of it."

At the moment the point I wish to make is that
Flynt knew his vagrant in the open. He had a pro-
found contempt for the books written by frock-coated
gentlemen who have academic positions, and say
" sociology," and measure the skulls and take the con-

346

JOSIAH FLYNT— AN APPRECIATION

fessions of the vagrant in captivity. Skull for skull he
believed there was small difference between that of the
first scamp and the first minister of the Gospel. I set
that down for what it is worth as his opinion. The
confessions of a vagrant in captivity are always, he said,
false. This I fancy is almost true.

I had chose a passably dreary seminary course in
Harvard in which all the literature of criminology had
been got up and reported. I myself had looked into
some of the books — too many — some is too many. Five
minutes of Flynt's talk turned my books into a heap
of rubbish. Five hours' stroll with him made me forget
that the rubbish heap existed. At his best, and it was
at his best that I knew him, he was what he wished to
be — the foremost authority among those who knew him
in the side streets.

He had paid for his knowledge — paid with his person.
"Old Boston Mary" I believe to be in part fiction;
I could never surprise the little man into a confession;
but he has lain on the trucks of a Pullman and in the
blinding cinders and dust seen his companion lose grip
from sheer weariness, and go — to meet Boston Mary.
He had tightened his own grip, and been sorry. He
could do no more.

347

JOSIAH FLYNT— AN IMPRESSION
By Emily M. Burbank

IN " My Life," Josiah Flynt says, " I have spoken
of Arthur Symons' interest in my first efforts to
describe tramp life. I think it was he and the
magazine editors who abetted me in my scribblings,
rather than the university and its doctrines of * original
research.' . . . His (Symons') books and personal
friendship, are both valuable to me, but for very different
reasons. I seldom think of Symons the man, when I
read his essays and verses, and I only infrequently think
of his books, or of him as a literary man at all, when we
are together."

Josiah Flynt not only greatly admired Arthur Symons,
the distinguished Englishman, as poet, master of prose,
and critic, but had an affectionate regard for him, one
expression of which was his use of the nickname,
" Symonsky." While Flynt's guest in Berlin, Symons
had some difficulty in persuading a letter-carrier that a
communication from London was for Arthur Symons,
Esq., and not for some Herr Symonsky! The Slavic
twist to the name amused Flynt, who seized upon it.
His shy, affectionate nature found an outlet in re-naming
close friends.

348

JOSIAH FLYNT— AN IMPRESSION

After one of his visits to London, I asked Flynt if
he had seen much of Symons.

" Symonsky put me up, you know," he replied; then
with a quick, side glance and a smile, as he lighted a
cigarette, " but, to be perfectly frank, when / went to
bed, he was getting up ! "

Here we have defined in a sentence the difference be-
tween the two men. Their natures, like their lives, were
never parallel; they only just touched one another's im-
aginations in passing!

Flynt was then studying London's Under World —
the great city's blackest corners and darkest ways; while
Symons, as it chanced, was seldom out of the lime-light
circle of London concert halls, preparatory to writing
his " London Nights."

Both men were the sons of clergymen, and launched
in life's calmest, safest waters, at about the same time,
though on opposite sides of the Atlantic. It was their
own volition which led them to take to life's high seas.
Symons went from his small town to London, which, in
spite of continental sojourns, has remained his permanent
mooring. Flynt took to the " open " at an early age,
and tied up in whatever harbor the storm drove him.
American by blood and birth, he felt at home in Russia,
Germany, France, or the British Isles, if given the Mask
of No Identity.

One of the swiftest currents of London life flows
down the Strand. There, Josiah Flynt, in what disguise
he chose, could do his " work," and, when he would,
step over the sill of the old Temple and find a welcome

349

MY LIFE

from his friend, who had chambers in Fountain Court,
that silent square of green, which slopes to the Thames,
and is kept fresh and cool by its jets of water and great
shade trees. Symons lived in the building to the right,
after entering the Court, and up a winding flight of old
stone steps.

It was in these bachelor quarters of his (he has since
married and moved away) that I first saw Symons, the
year after Flynt's " Tramping with Tramps " had ap-
peared in the Century Magazine. I had been invited,
through a mutual friend, for tea, one cool afternoon
in June, and we sat on an immense tufted sofa, before
the grate, while our host stood, back to the fire, and
talked of other people's work.

I can see him now, big, blond and very English, his
hands deep in the pockets of his gray tweeds; an old,
brown velveteen jacket, faded blue socks and soft tan
slippers, harmonizing with his " stage-setting " — well
mellowed by time. Books lined the walls, and a spinnet,
on which Symons played, when alone, stood in one cor-
ner. He had prepared tea and elaborate sweets for us,
and then forgot to offer them, so busy was he, talking of
his friend, Christina Rossetti, whose poems he had just
edited! When he spoke of Olive Schreiner, some one
asked him if she was interesting, and I remember quite
well Symons' reply: " I stood all one night listening to
her talk!"

Even at nineteen, in his " Introduction to the Study of
Browning," commended by Robert Browning himself,
Symons had proved himself to be an artist, and he is

350

JOSIAH FLYNT— AN IMPRESSION

always lyric. Flynt was never an artist in the same
sense, in his literary work — and epic to the end ! He
knew and understood the ways of men, and had the gift
of words; but when he wrote for publication, his imagi-
nation seemed chained to earth. It may be that he was
too much " on the inside " to get his subject in per-
spective. Then, too, it must be remembered that
Flynt was the tramp writing, not the literary man
tramping.

Armed with ancestors of distinction, birth, training,
education and the influence of cultured parents, he
abhorred all social anchors and obligations. I remember
his once saying to me, " My mother has sent me my
books from Berlin. Her idea is to anchor me, I think,
but I'll leave them boxed for a while, for I'm uncertain
about my plans." He was " always a-movin' on! "

Flynt was not a great reader, yet he had a wide
knowledge of books — gleaned one scarcely knew when.
The child of book-loving parents, he started out in life
with a valuable equipment — an innate respect for books
and their authors. In every case, however, I think that
his chief interest lay in the man, not his literary out-
put. In spite of the sordid realism of his writings, the
manner of his last years, and the regretted circumstances
of his death, there was a poetic vein, which, like a single,
golden thread, ran in and out, the warp and woof of his
mind. This betrayed itself in conversations with inti-
mates, and when discussing books of travel or their
authors. Especially did Sir Richard Burton and
George Borrow fire his imagination. " Lavengro "

35i

MY LIFE

and its author were discussed during one of our last
conversations.

The " white road " and the sea may have meant
something to him as such, but to me he never spoke of
either, except as highways; hence I conclude that as such
only did they make their appeal to him. Man, not
nature, attracted him, and it was always man in the
meshes of civilization.

He was a victim to morbid self-consciousness, and this
was one reason for his avoiding people of the class in
which he was born. Give him a part in a play — he
was gifted as an actor — the disguise of a vagabond, or
whisky with which to fortify himself, and the man's
spirit sprang out of its prison of flesh, like an uncaged
bird.

This effect which whisky had upon him, led Flynt to
give it as a reason for the " perpetual thirst " of some.
He used to say, " Whisky makes it possible for me to
approach men with a manner which ignores all class
barriers. Pass the whisky and it's man to man — hobo,
hod-carrier or king ! "

Flynt was a slave to tobacco, which he preferred in
the form of cigarettes. One never thinks of him without
one, so no wonder he was called " Cigarette " in
Trampdom !

His family thought that the too early use of tobacco
stunted his growth, for, when seated, the upper part of
his body, being broad and strong, suggested a larger
man than he proved to be when on his feet. He stood
not more than five feet three inches. He was naturally

352

JOSIAH FLYNT— AN IMPRESSION

thin and nervous, with quick movements of the body,
and an ever-changing expression of face — a face clean-
shaven and rather boyish. None of his photographs
give any idea as to his appearance, because the abiding
impression received from him was produced by his mag-
netic personality and individual mannerisms, one of
which was a way of dropping his head forward and
looking up through frowning eyebrows. He decorated
his speech with Russian, French or German words,
thrown into a sentence haphazard, and spoke in a voice
pitched low and used rhythmically. He had an impres-
sionable, volatile nature, and seemed really to become
one of the race which at the moment filled his mental
vision.

Flynt's ethical code was that of the Under World,
and, in some respects, superior to the one in use on the
Surface of Life.

A prominent sociologist said recently, " Flynt had the
field to himself; there is no one to take his place at pres-
ent. Few men who live and know the life of the Under
World, as he did, have his mental equipment. Many
can retain the facts, but are unable to handle them as
satisfactorily; then, too, to be friend and companion of
tramps and criminals, and of men like Tolstoy and Ibsen,
is to possess a wide range of octaves in human experience
and mental grasp ! "

Flynt's talent for languages enabled him to pick up the
vernacular, even of underground Russia, in an incredibly
short time.

As he says himself, Wanderlust, not the scientist's

353

MY LIFE

curiosity to verify theories, led him on to his well-
merited distinction as criminologist, and down to his
ultimate undoing, at the early age of thirty-eight.

"Beyond the East the sunrise,

Beyond the West the sea,

And the East and West the Wanderlust

That will not let me be."

While Flynt had most of the appetites, good and bad,
possible to man, he was not a weak man, but a physically
selfish one, strong in his determination to " enjoy."
Condemned to an early death by the excessive use of
stimulants, he agreed to write his " Life," did so, and
then shut himself in his room in Chicago, to pass out —
unafraid, unaccompanied, uncontrolled — a characteristic
ending !

That Josiah Flynt has started on his long journey,
that this world will see him no more, is impossible for
his near friends to realize, so accustomed are they to his
periodical disappearances and his unfailing return to
their midst.

He who preferred the byways, the crooked winding
paths, has at last struck the broad, straight road where
there is no turning back. It is he who must wait for us
now, as we push on, with his cheerful " Good luck ! Be
good! Don't forget me! " ringing in our ears, and in
our hearts Stevenson's words :

"He is not dead, this friend, not dead,
But in the path we mortals tread,
Got some few trifling steps ahead,
And nearer to the end,

354

JOSIAH FLYNT— AN IMPRESSION

So that you, too, once past the bend,

Shall meet again, as, face to face, this friend

You fancy dead. ....

"Push gaily on, strong heart! The while
You travel forward, mile by mile,
Till you can overtake,
He strains his eyes to search his wake,
Or, whistling as he sees you through the break,
Waits on the stile."

(R. L. S.)

Flynt often talked of his death after disease fastened
upon him, but always with an inconsequence as to what
lay beyond the grave — not bravado, but the philoso-
pher's acquiescence to the inevitable, whatever it be. He
had great faith in the loyalty of friends who might sur-
vive him. " So-and-so will speak a good word for me,
I know! " he would say. Separation, by geographical
distances, never bothered him, yet he wrote but few let-
ters. He seemed to get satisfaction out of his belief that
he and his nearest friends communicated by thought
transference: "The wires are always up! " Doubtless
he passed out with the conviction that this would
continue.

The man's spirit remained childlike in its tender, con-
fiding quality, and pure, in spite of the fact that he
dragged his poor body through the mire of life.

His generous nature and faithful friendship have set
in motion currents which are eternal.

355

A FINAL WORD*
By Bannister Merwin

TO complete the story of Josiah Flynt's life is
not an easy task. His later years were lived
in the open, it is true, and the details of his
movements were, in every case, known to at least one
of his friends; but his own love of mystery and the
delight that he found in mystifying others led him to
conceal from one friend what he freely told to the
next.

If all his friends could come together and compare
notes, the result might be a consecutive account of what
he did during those years. But alas ! some of them are
dead. Alfred Hodder, who knew more than most of
us, died only a few weeks after Josiah.

*Note by the Publishers. — It was Josiah Flynt's intention to add
to his autobiography some concluding chapters of a philosophic and
sociological nature. Among other subjects, he intended to prove that
there is no such thing as honor among thieves, and to show conclusively
that there is no real happiness in unlawful existence.

The call to the road which goes, but does not return, came to him,
however, in January, 1907, when his life came abruptly to an end.

To Mr. Bannister Merwin, his relative and friend, we are indebted
for the following account of Flynt's movements during the last few
years of his life.

356

A FINAL WORD

" My Life," however, makes little pretense of being
a complete biography in the accepted sense. Rather
it is the disjointed record of those incidents which in
their combined impression brought him most nearly
to the understanding of himself. The mere facts of
life did not seem very important to him; feeling was
everything. And few men who have set out to write
their own stories have been able to show themselves
as truly as he has shown himself. That is because he
was essentially a man of feeling — sensitive, proud, filled
with sentiment — though only his close friends may
have known this of him.

When he had nearly completed his " confession," as
he liked to call it, he said to me one day: " I have given
them my insides." He did indeed make the strongest
kind of an effort to let the world see him as he honestly
saw himself — and I think he saw himself more hon-
estly than most men do, for he was free from self-
exaltation. Always he was humble about his own
limitations.

If anything is to be added to what he has written
about himself, it should comprise those experiences
which he would have been most likely to relate, had he
lived to write more. And first, doubtless, he would
have told something of his work in investigating
" graft " in several of our larger cities. As far as I
can find, he was responsible for the introduction of the
word "graft" into book English. It was a word of the
Under World, and he lifted it to the upper light. The
articles in McC lure's Magazine, in which he exposed

357

MY LIFE

police corruption, were also, if I am not mistaken, the
first important examples of modern " muck-raking."
They are still obtainable in printed form, and Josiah
probably would have said little about them in his book.
But he certainly would have related with relish the
week's wonder of his escape from the New York police.
When the article about " graft " in New York was
published, the " Powers That Be " in the metropolis
were loud in their denunciation of Josiah Flynt. They
swore roundly that they would make it hot for him
when they caught him, and the daily press announced
that he was to be arrested and compelled to make good
his statements. But Josiah Flynt had disappeared. The
police did not find him, and it was some time before he
came back to his old haunts.

There was reason to think that the police were only
" bluffing." There was also reason to think that Josiah
would be able to " make good," if he were captured and
examined by a police tribunal. Nevertheless he hid
himself in obscure lodgings in Hoboken. An escaped
criminal would not cover his tracks more carefully.
The truth was that the opportunity for mystification
appealed to him irresistibly. He exaggerated the neces-
sity for concealment in order that he might enjoy to the
full the sensation of being vainly hunted. For, as I
have said, he always loved to make mystery. I have
seen him, during a quite harmless expedition along a
New York street by night, take elaborate precautions
to avoid approaching strangers, on the assumption that
they were " hold-up " men. Such avoidance of hypo-

358

A FINAL WORD

thetical dangers was to him a most fascinating game — a
game which he was well qualified to play.

He found a melancholy and sentimental pleasure, too,
in keeping himself in the background at times when
such inaction was contrary to his happier desires. I
remember that, in 1887, during the time when he was
living in the Under World, after his escape from the
reform school and before his appearance at his mother's
home in Berlin, he made one brief and characteristic
emergence which may throw light upon this trait in him.
Josiah was my cousin. At that time the home of my
family was in Detroit, Michigan, and one day Josiah
put in an appearance at my father's office. He was
ragged and unkempt, and uncertain in his account of
himself. By his own story he was a detective engaged
in an important case, and he asked for money enough
to get him to some near city. My father tried to
persuade him to go home with him to the house. The
little vagabond refused, but he added: "I found out
where you lived and went up and looked at the house,
and I stood and watched the boys [my brother and
myself] playing ball in the next lot." He had remained
at the edge of the lot for some time, taking strange and
wistful pleasure in his own forlornness.

Reference has been made by others to the fact that
there was one romantic passion in Josiah's life. For
years he worshiped from afar a girl who possessed
grace, intelligence, and beauty, though so far as his
friends know he never offered himself to her. In July,
1894, I was with him for a few days at his home in

359

MY LIFE

Berlin. He told me at that time that the girl he loved
was on the continent, spending the summer at a moun-
tain resort. He had come to the conclusion, he said,
that it was time for him to go to her and declare him-
self. Accordingly, he did make a pilgrimage of many
hundred miles to the place where she was staying,
dreaming we may not guess what dreams along the
way. It was many months before I saw him again.
When he began to speak of the girl in the same old
terms of distant adoration, I asked him about his jour-
ney of the preceding summer. " Well," he said, " I
went there, and I saw her, but I didn't speak to her."
"Did she see you?" I asked. "No," he answered.
Again he had been the watcher by the wayside standing
in shy self-effacement while the girl of his heart
passed by.

A few years before his death Josiah, in what was
undoubtedly an honest and serious determination to
improve his health and his habits, went to Woodland
Valley, in the Southern Catskills, and there had built
for him a comfortable little " shack," on the grounds
of a beautifully situated summer hotel. Different friends
were with him during the time he spent in the moun-
tains, but every now and again the call of the city
became too strong for him to resist. While he was
living at the " shack " he made a few of the conven-
tional trips to the summits of near-by mountains, but his
interest was usually centered in simply " getting to the
top." The goal once reached he would enjoy for a few
moments the pleasant sense of obstacles overcome, and

360

A FINAL WORD

then, after a casual glance at the " view," he would
say: " Well, now let's go back." His real life at Wood-
land was his interest in the natives of the valley. He
worked himself into close acquaintance with them, and
sought to understand their point of view. Even after
he had given up his shack, he still held to the valley as
his place of refuge. He bought a little tract of land
there and, to the time of his death, talked of building
upon it a snug but permanent home.

Mr. Charles E. Burr, to whom Josiah so often refers
in his narrative, supplies the story of an interesting
period. I will quote him. " In the summer of 1904,"
he says, " I had some correspondence with Flynt, who
was then in Berlin. The tone of his letters made me
think that a few months in the Indian Territory, where
rigid prohibition laws are enforced, would benefit him.
I therefore offered him a position as car-trailer on the
Southwest Division of the Saint Louis and San Fran-
cisco Railroad, with headquarters at Sapulpa, Indian
Territory. The offer was accepted, and Flynt came to
Sapulpa about the middle of August, by way of Galves-
ton, Texas.

" The duties assigned to him kept him on the road
much of the time. Whenever the opportunity came, I
saw to it that he made the acquaintance of interesting
characters who lived in the Territory and in Oklahoma.
Among them were several United States deputy mar-
shals who were known as ' killers,' and he afterwards
told me that he had got from these men a fairly com-
plete account of the ' Apache Kid ' and his numerous

361

MY LIFE

gun-fights. I once sent Flynt to Fort Sill, Oklahoma,
to interview the famous Apache, Geronimo, but the old
chief was in a bad humor and would not talk.

" During September horses were stolen from a car
at Okmulgee, Indian Territory, and Flynt and two
United States marshals went with me in pursuit of the
thieves.

" The trail led us into the heavily timbered Arkan-
sas bottoms, long the home of the outlaws and
' cattle rustlers ' of the Territory. At the end of a
continuous forty-mile ride we found some of the stock,
and Flynt, who was not accustomed to sitting a horse,
then declared that he would rather die on the prairie
than ride that broncho any farther. He drove back to
Okmulgee with a rancher whom I employed to take the
recovered horses.

" Later, Flynt became more accustomed to a saddle,
and rode to many points of interest near Sapulpa. He
once told me that he had made several trips to the home
of a half-breed negro who lived near a ledge of rocks
called ' Moccasin Tracks,' about five miles from
Sapulpa. This half-breed had a bad record. The
United States marshals had him ' marked,' and planned
to ' get him ' at the first opportunity, but Flynt said
that he was a very interesting man to talk with.

" I left Sapulpa in October, and Flynt accompanied
me to Chicago, where he remained until March. He
was very proud of the certificate which was issued to
him when he severed his connection with the Saint Louis
and San Francisco.

362

A FINAL WORD

" These certificates are commonly called ' Letters of
Identification.' Flynt always referred to his as his
' Denty,' and he took much pleasure in showing it to
his friends. He gave it to me a few days before his
death and asked me to keep it for him."

From this " Denty " we get a rough description of
Josiah Flynt as he was in 1904. "Age, thirty-five
years. Weight, one hundred and twenty-five pounds.
Height, five feet five inches. Complexion, light. Hair,
light. Eyes, brown." It also gives as his " Reasons
for leaving the service " : " Resigned. Services and con-
duct entirely satisfactory."

In the autumn of 1905 the insurrectionary outbreaks
in Russia were assuming such proportions that a serious
revolutionary war was not improbable. Josiah secured
a commission from a magazine to go to Russia and
investigate the situation. His health was by no means
good, and his temperate life in Oklahoma had had no
permanently good effect upon his habits, but he set forth
eagerly to do his work. He gathered much interesting
material, and he wrote the required articles. He
became very ill, however, and for a long time he lay
at the point of death in a German hospital. When he
returned to America for the last time, in the first warm
days of 1906, he was broken, changed in his looks, a
feeble shadow of himself. He told me then that, while
he was so near death in Germany, the two thoughts
that did more than anything else to get him on his feet
again were his desire to see his mother and his deter-
mination to " make good " with his articles, which were

363

MY LIFE

not completed until his partial convalescence had begun.
I had helped to get him that Russian commission, and
it seemed to be ever in his mind that, since I had " stood
for him " — that was the way he put it — he must not
fail. From his bed of pain he dragged himself to
" make good." Loyalty such as that was one of his
strongest traits. I remember that once, while he was
living in the Catskills, a distant relative sent a request
for some money to help him out of a difficulty. Josiah
came to New York by the first train he could get, and
went to one of the savings banks in which he kept his
funds. The relative received the money he needed.
Before returning to Woodland Josiah told me of the
errand which had brought him to New York. He
added: " We must always stand by the family."

It was late in 1906 that Flynt began his last task.
He was sent to Chicago by the Cosmopolitan Magazine
to " write up " pool-room gambling. Unable to give
to this work the old energy of investigation, he was
helped to a creditable showing by people who had the
information he desired. He must have known that he
was near the end. In every letter that he wrote to me
during those last weeks he referred again and again to
his having seen " mother," or his expectation of spend-
ing the next day with " mother," or of his plan to
" make a short trip with mother." All his love cen-
tered more and more closely in her as death approached
him, though, indeed, for years his chief thoughts had
been of her. She was spending those last weeks in a
suburb of Chicago, and he especially welcomed the work

364

A FINAL WORD

that took him to Chicago, because it made it possible
for him to see her often.

But when, about mid-January, 1907, he came down
with pneumonia, he would not let his friends admit her
to his room in the Chicago hotel. She was not to
witness his suffering. He died at 7 P.M., on January
20, after two hours of unconsciousness.

365

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Full text of "My life"

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